


The Heart of the Matter

by jad



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Friendship, Homophobia, Humor, Infidelity, M/M, Multi, Multiple Pairings, Pre - Deathly Hallows, Sexual Experimentation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-22
Updated: 2013-08-29
Packaged: 2017-11-12 16:00:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 88,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/493057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jad/pseuds/jad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yet another version of: What Would Have Happened If Draco Had Lowered His Wand A Bit Sooner. [AU post-HBP, Draco's POV.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **This is singularly for my own sanity and amusement. It won't be beta read unless noted, it's bound to come in short and erratic bursts, and now you can see how truly horrifying my writing is before Rosie makes it presentable, and then appreciate her efforts all the more. I'm experimenting with relationships, pairings, and sex in general. I tend to stick to all canon that's known for a fact (and pre-DH) whether I try to or not. It's a lot of fun and I urge you to not take it too seriously. It is only fiction, after all.**

**Chapter 1**

_'Responsibility is the price of freedom.'_  
—Elbert Hubbard

: : :

The last epithet Draco Malfoy had ever imagined would apply to him was that of 'blood traitor'.

Malfoys were purebloods in every sense of the word, his family unwaveringly loyal to the Dark Lord and his cause; it was the ideology he'd been born into, the way he had been raised, trained, and tailored into a man. Draco accepted without question that he was better than the rest of the world simply because of his heritage, his father's wealth and political power collateral factors.

Even from Azkaban, Lucius' reputation commanded high respect and granted him power; he wove threads of blackmail and threat enough to turn the Ministry inside-out without so much as lifting a finger. His son supplemented his presence where required, a position Draco considered a compliment; acting as the representative of such a man was an honour not to be taken lightly.

He would make his father proud, even if he had all but soiled himself standing in the presence of the Dark Lord at barely sixteen, enervated, terrified at the task he had been given to make up for his father's failure. To earn his father's right to live, to protect his mother, to uphold everything that gave his life meaning. Malfoys were not blood traitors, even in the face of annihilation. Draco would acquiesce to the Dark Lord's command, even if it meant forfeiting the rest of his life for a cause he trusted and believed in but had never quite understood.

He  _would_ make his father proud, he told himself again. He  _would_ protect his mother. He  _had_ to. No Malfoy in history had earned the title of blood traitor. Draco did not intend to be the first.

He didn't realise at the time that this moment would become the fork in the road of his life. This was the moment he had to decide; was he a murderer, or a traitor?

'Draco, Draco, you are not a killer.'

To kill in cold blood—

'No harm has been done...'

—or to betray those he loved.

'...you have hurt nobody.'

This was not a decision any sixteen-year-old should ever have had to make. But, no, he would not give in. He could not cave. He couldn't take the easy way out. He'd got this far... he was the one with the wand. His grip on it tightened; he stood up straighter, holding his chin higher. 'You're at my mercy...'

'No, Draco,' Dumbledore said calmly. Much too calmly for a weak, injured, unarmed old wizard held at wand point. Blue eyes watched Draco from behind their half-moon spectacles, as serene and pastel as the afternoon summer sky. 'It is my mercy, not yours, that matters now.'

At these words, Draco was overwhelmed with a blinding haze of fury at everything; at Dumbledore, for being so fucking calm and benevolent all the time, even in the face of his own demise; his father, for failing and expecting Draco to pick up the pieces; the Dark Lord, for being the biggest hypocrite of them all, and for forcing him to make this decision; at the whole war, for stealing his life away before he knew what the hell had happened.

He was sixteen. He should have been worrying about where to spend his summer holidays, hoping he'd get that new Firebolt prototype for his birthday, wondering whether he'd ever get his hands up Pansy's skirt, or if the Headmaster had enough brains to make him Head Boy in seventh year...

And with a sudden jolt, looking down the smooth, dark wood of his wand to his target, Draco realised how very unlikely his having a seventh year was anymore; how very unlikely even having a seventeenth birthday had just become. He fought the strong urge that gripped his insides to flee to his dormitory and close the curtains and disappear under the covers. He didn't want to be here, didn't want to make this decision.

Dumbledore continued to watch him with that bright, halcyon gaze, silent and patient and far too understanding of a boy who'd come in here with the intent to kill him. Those eyes were offering Draco everything he'd been trying to find all year.

Safety. Compassion. Forgiveness.

A way out.

The tip of his wand faltered; slowly, at first, his wrist dipping an inch, then two, and suddenly his arm dropped to his side, sagging as if the weight of the world had dragged it down. He was barely able to keep his knees from following suit. He hated Dumbledore—always had—but not enough to kill him. Not enough to kill anybody.

And he hated the Dark Lord enough not to.

Dumbledore released a breath Draco had been unaware of him holding. 'My wand, please, Draco.'

There was a terrified scream followed by a howl of rage somewhere downstairs. Draco snapped out of his stupor as the noises of the world restored awareness of his current situation, and without thinking he Summoned Dumbledore's wand with a muttered  _Accio_. With only a moment's hesitation, he stepped forward and, hand trembling, handed it back to the Headmaster.

Dumbledore was watching him with irradiant eyes, and something warm and tingling—something he briefly considered might be pride—unfurled in Draco's chest before he was thrown back into the here and now by Dumbledore raising his wand, once again a power to be reckoned with.

Pointing it at the far wall, he said, softly, 'Quickly, Harry, we don't have much time.'

Draco's blood froze and he wheeled around. From nowhere, Harry Potter emerged, rolling his Invisibility Cloak up in his arms. He looked positively furious; at him, Draco thought at first, but Potter rounded on Dumbledore instead. 'What the hell were you thinking! If he hadn't—he could have—'

'Now is not the time, Harry,' Dumbledore interrupted, his voice, though still quiet and even, now with an underlying urgency. 'The important thing is that he did not, though he had the opportunity.'

His gaze turned from Potter to Draco, who could feel himself flushing, tense with suspicion and indignation. 'The two of you must get under the cloak and keep out of the way.'

Potter began to open his mouth, doubtless to protest, but Dumbledore raised a hand to silence him without looking away from Draco. 'You may disagree with me later, Harry. You agreed to follow my orders, without question. Both of you, under the cloak,  _now_.'

Potter's eyes snapped to Draco. He still looked furious, but he opened the cloak anyway and without so much as waiting for a response, stepped up to Draco and threw it over the both of them.

'Out of the way,' Dumbledore reminded them in a whisper. Over his words, Draco could hear the distant thudding of someone running up the stairs... several someones...

'Move,' Potter hissed, seizing Draco by the elbows and dragging him backwards.

Potter's grip was vice-like and probably would have been painful, had Draco not been so completely benumbed with fear as the door to the Astronomy Tower abruptly burst open, quelling any impulsive desire Draco had had to pull away from Potter. Four figures piled in, shrouded in dark cloaks. One of the group—short, a woman from the look of it, stepped forward, her wand raised.

'Alecto,' Dumbledore said pleasantly. 'Forgive me if I cannot say it's good to see you again.'

'Don't play coy, Dumbledore!' she warned. 'Where is the boy?'

'I'm afraid you'll need to be more specific,' Dumbledore replied patiently, 'for there are many boys housed in this institution.'

'Any will do for me.' The words were uttered through a nasty, low snarl. 'I'm not picky, Dumbledore. You know that.'

'My goodness,' Dumbledore said, sounding mildly surprised. 'Is that you, Fenrir?'

A throaty, bark-like laugh answered him. 'Miss me?'

'No,' Dumbledore said, managing to sound genuinely regretful. 'I really can't say that I have.'

His calm blue eyes swept the group as he held his wand in front of him, raised but not threateningly so. An enormous, blonde Death Eater with a brutal-looking face stepped forward beside Fenrir, eyes narrowed and wand held high. Dumbledore acknowledged him with a slight inclination of his head. 'It's been quite a while, Thorfinn.'

'Enough of this!' said the short, stumpy figure by Alecto's side, his wand also raised. 'We don't have time for your games, Dumbledore!'

'Games?' Dumbledore said mildly. 'These aren't games, my dear Amycus. These are manners.'

Draco could hear more people coming up the stairs. He wondered why none of the Death Eaters had attacked Dumbledore yet; he may have been armed, his eyes fixed and his wand held confidently, but he was still outnumbered four-to-one and slumped weakly by the opposite wall. Draco could practically sense the Death Eaters' fear of this old wizard, all too cowardly to strike first, shooting one another furtive, sideways looks in the hope of provoking someone else into making the first move. Dumbledore observed them silently, motionless.

Potter's grip had not loosened and Draco's elbows were growing stiff, bruises surely forming. One of his hands also held his wand, which was pointed at the group of Death Eaters, ready to attack from behind the safety of the cloak if necessary. Greyback was closest to them, and Draco could smell the dried blood on his clothes.

It was beyond Draco how Potter could even pretend to be brave enough to fight in this situation—as if he could do anything anyway, against three armed Death Eaters and a fucking werewolf, even with Dumbledore there. He could feel Potter's breath on the back of his neck, shallow and even, the heartbeat against his back remarkably calm, as if used to standing in the face of its own demise.

Draco would never have let Potter this close to him before, sod the circumstances, and he was sure Potter felt the same, but both knew better than to move. Instead, he wanted to say something, to ask Potter what the hell he should be doing, if he should be doing anything, or should he just get out of the way, because he didn't feel able to charm a lock open at the moment, much less send a curse flying at the snarling, ragged form of Greyback standing ten feet from him.

The atmosphere was so thick he could have sliced it with a knife, and just as the air felt like it was about to break, Snape barrelled into the room.

Draco felt Potter go rigid behind him, his heart skipping a beat and then plunging into overdrive. The hand holding his wand released Draco's elbow, and he held it higher, steadier, aiming it directly at Snape. Draco turned his head to look at Potter over his shoulder and mouthed, 'What the hell are you doing?' but Potter ignored him, eyes narrowed and focused on the Potions Master.

'Severus!' Alecto hissed, whirling on him. 'Where the hell have you been?'

Snape ignored the question. 'Have you found the boy?' he demanded.

'This old fool's hiding him,' Amycus snapped, gesturing at Dumbledore. 'I bet my life—that boy's bad blood, just like his filthy cousins.'

Snape's eyes flickered briefly to Dumbledore; no words were exchanged, but some sort of understanding must have passed between them, because Draco suddenly found himself forced to the floor by hands on his shoulders as the room erupted in an explosion of lights and colours and bangs, like some sort of massive, spectral firework.

Someone shouted in surprise, Draco heard an enraged snarl nearby, and there were several loud thuds. Another spell exploded right above where Draco and Potter lay on the cold floor, still concealed beneath the cloak. Before Draco could recover from the shock, he was hauled to his feet by strong arms, which ended up belonging to Potter; Draco hissed and wrenched away from him.

Potter ignored him, wrapping the cloak back up in his arms. There were three bodies on the floor; Fenrir was gone, but the other Death Eaters lay Stunned in a haphazard pile between Snape and Dumbledore.

'Thank you, Severus,' Dumbledore said quietly, before looking to Draco, who was still edging away from Potter but unsure of where else to go. 'I must assist the others. You know what is required,' he said. He conjured a quill and parchment out of thin air and began writing very quickly against the wall.

Snape walked over to him and, once he was finished, took the parchment with a nod. 'I counted half a dozen on my way up.'

Potter moved to follow Dumbledore on his way out, but Dumbledore halted him with a forcible gesture. 'No, Harry, you are to go with Professor Snape and Mr Malfoy.'

'What?' Potter snapped. 'The bloody hell I—'

'Disagree with me later, Harry,' Dumbledore said once again, very firmly. 'You are to accompany Professor Snape and Mr Malfoy. I will send an owl. Go.'

As Dumbledore turned and exited down the stairs, Potter started forward. 'But—'

'Potter!' Snape's fist crushed the parchment in his hand. He stepped forward, cutting Potter's route short. 'You heard the Headmaster, and you will do as you're told. Draco—' Snape's eyes flickered to his student, cold and hard, '—now is not the time for delays. Read this, quickly, and memorise.'

Draco blinked briefly at the parchment Snape shoved at him but did not take it. He didn't care what was written there, or where Snape intended to take him. He didn't even care that Potter was supposed to go with him. It felt like Dumbledore's words had hooked onto his stomach and dragged it out of the tower with him.

'But,' he began, looking between Snape and the door, 'what about my mother? He said he'd—'

' _Read it_ ,' Snape snarled again, in a tone that demanded obedience. He offered the note once more and this time, albeit grudgingly, Draco accepted it. Smoothing the wrinkled parchment, he read the narrow handwriting quickly:

_The Headquarters to the Order of the Phoenix can be found at  
Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, London.  
_  
: : :


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

_Feeling second fiddle to a dead man  
Up to my neck with your disregard  
Like a beat dog that's walking on the Broadway  
Sister luck is screaming out somebody else's name_  
—Black Crowes

: : :

Number twelve, Grimmauld Place, as it turned out, was a very tall, foreboding building that looked as if it had been built out of Black Death and bad memories. Potter led them up steep steps to the black front door. He hissed quietly at the knocker—a twisted serpent, ornate and silver—and Draco shivered; beside him, he felt Snape similarly shudder. With an answering hiss and a soft click, the door swung inward. Snape and Draco followed Potter inside.

In the gloom, the hallway seemed surprisingly small given the size of the building. Wallpaper peeled off walls bearing numerous portraits, all covered, abandoned, or blackened with age. A tall candelabrum shaped like an upright serpent stood off to one side, a troll's leg umbrella stand beside it. At the far end, a staircase disappeared into darkness upstairs.

It was unnaturally quiet and extremely cold in the house, and Draco had never wanted to be at home so much in his entire life. If these were the best Headquarters the other side could muster, he was a dead man for sure.

'What about my mother?' he demanded, rounding on Snape.

'Shh!' Potter hissed at him.

Before Draco could tell Potter just where he could shove his shushing, the curtains covering one of the portraits flew open and a furious voice began screeching at an ear-piercing level. 'FILTH! MUD! BESMIRCHING THE HOUSE OF MY FOREFATHERS! BLOOD TRAIT—'

'Shut  _up_!' Potter snapped, violently yanking the curtains shut, muffling but not entirely silencing the irate portrait. 'Keep your voice  _down_ , Malfoy.'

Draco opened his mouth to retort, but before he could say a word or Snape could intervene, the front door burst open behind them. Several figures piled in hurriedly, talking in loud, frantic voices. Draco backed up against the wall as he realised, even in the darkness of the hall, that half the voices were sporting bright-red hair.

'Where is he? I'm going to kill him!'

'Ron, you're not killing anyone—where's—Ginny, here, hold Crookshanks for a mo—'

'You hold your cat yourself. I'm going to kill him  _first_.'

'No one is going to be killing anyone, Miss Weasley,' Snape said firmly, his low monotone slicing through their chatter. He eyed the wand held in her hand. 'And may I remind you that you are still underage and do not possess the privilege of using magic outside of school grounds.'

The two Weasley brats and Granger looked up at him, startled. Lupin appeared behind them, his expression one of relief upon seeing Snape. Ginny looked past Snape, saw Draco, and narrowed her eyes.

'Who said anything about magic?' she demanded. 'I'll kill him with my bare hands.'

'I'd like to see you try,' Draco snapped back.

'Don't you talk to her like that, Malfoy,' Potter said from behind him.

'Or what?'

'Or I'll knock every one of your teeth down your throat!'

'Potter, just because we're off school grounds does not mean I will tolerate you threatening my students,' Snape said coldly.

'I'll threaten who I want in my own house!' Potter snapped back. The portrait began wailing again.

'That's  _enough_ ,' snarled a deep voice Draco didn't recognise. He turned around and was shocked to find it was Lupin who'd stepped forward. Draco noticed that he looked a lot bigger up close. 'There are more important things happening right now. Your differences can wait. Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny—upstairs. I need to have a word with Draco and Severus alone.'

Four mouths opened to protest, only to be quelled by a quiet but firm 'No arguments.'

Draco pressed himself against the wall as Ginny moved past him, practically hissing. Potter stood his ground as her brother and Granger followed, looking furious and determined.

'Harry,' Lupin said patiently. 'Please, upstairs.'

'Why can't I—'

'Potter, did you or did you not hear what he said?' Snape said icily. 'There are more important things than  _you_ at the moment. Do us a favour and make yourself scarce.'

Potter gave him a very cold look, and then snarled a long, guttural hiss. Snape narrowed his eyes.

'Upstairs,' Lupin ordered again, his voice now devoid of any remnant of tolerance. Potter gave them all a contemptuous look, swore, and then jogged quietly up the stairs. Lupin waited until they heard him begin the second flight before leading the way into the living room.

'The outcome?' Snape demanded immediately.

'Bad,' Lupin admitted. 'Could be worse, though—no deaths, not on our side, as far as I know, though Bill's pretty badly injured.' He shook his head. 'I don't know how they managed it. Those children should have been killed.'

'Well, we have Potter to thank for instigating their recklessness, I'm sure,' Snape said coldly. 'And the others?'

'Two dead, five incapacitated.'

'And Dumbledore?'

'Still there. The Ministry had just started to arrive when I left, we needed to get as many of them out of there as possible before Scrimgeour got his hands on them. Dumbledore thinks—'

'Excuse me,  _sir_ ,' Draco cut in, tired of being ignored. 'What about my  _mother_?'

Lupin's expression softened a little. 'Alastor and Kingsley set off for the Manor the minute the situation at Hogwarts was under control.' He turned back to Snape. 'Dumbledore thinks it was primarily a diversion—that would explain why there were so few of them—but of course the Minister won't hear a word of it.'

'Would make sense,' Snape agreed. 'Bellatrix wasn't there, and she would've made sure I was ignorant if she had other plans. I suspect Azkaban—?'

'More than likely.'

'Lovely.'

'What are you talking about?' Draco asked. 'What  _about_ Azkaban?'

Before either man could answer him, the door opened again and heavy footsteps could be heard in the hall. Draco turned around to see Mad-Eye Moody and a bald, powerful-looking black wizard enter the room. They were both soaking wet, and Draco belatedly noticed that it had started raining outside.

'Alastor, Kingsley,' Lupin said quickly. 'Was there trouble?'

Draco looked from the two men to Lupin, and back again. 'Where's my mother?' he demanded.

Moody and Kingsley exchanged glances.

'We got there as quickly as we could,' Kingsley said, and Draco suddenly felt his blood run cold.

Moody heaved a heavy sigh and shrugged off his leather cloak, slapping the wet fabric on the sofa. 'Lucius was already there.'

Draco blinked; this was not the response he had expected. 'But my father's in—'

' _Was_ in,' Kingsley corrected him. 'While half of them attacked Hogwarts, the others raided Azkaban. You-Know-Who was with them. With half the Ministry at the school there was no way they could resist—the Dementors all turned on the guards. And they didn't just release Death Eaters,' he added gravely. 'They let them  _all_ out.'

'Good lord,' Lupin said.

Draco was growing increasingly furious. He'd been asking the same question since leaving the bloody tower, and though it was a fairly simple one, no one seemed willing to give him a simple answer.

'Where. Is. My. Mother?' he snarled, speaking very slowly.

'I told you, boy,' Moody growled, focusing both eyes on him. 'Lucius got to her first.'

Snape closed his eyes and let out a slow breath, as if he'd just had his worst suspicions confirmed. Lupin moved forward and put a hand on Draco's shoulder. Draco ignored him, still glaring at the pair of them. 'What do you mea—'

'Your mother's dead, Malfoy,' Moody growled. 'Your father killed her.'

There was a tense, deathly silence in the room. When Draco spoke again, his voice was oddly high-pitched. 'You're lying.'

'Why would I bother to lie about it?' Moody asked. He sat down beside his cloak and began calmly charming his clothes dry, as if he hadn't just informed Draco that his entire world had been destroyed.

'I don't know!' Draco exploded, wrenching his shoulder away from Lupin. He had the sudden urge to smash something—perhaps that stupid, ugly face, until he admitted he was lying through his teeth. 'Father wouldn't—he'd never—'

'We saw it happen,' Kingsley interrupted. 'He tried to use her as collateral. Said she'd live if we gave him you.' He sat down across from Moody and wiped the beads of water off his head. 'Narcissa didn't even give us a chance to negotiate. She said she'd rather die than hand you over to—'

'No!' he shouted. He was shaking his head so fervently it was beginning to hurt. 'No. No. You're lying. He'd never—Mother wouldn't—'

The words died in Draco's throat as Moody tossed something small and gold to the floor. Coming to a circumvolutory halt on the threadbare carpet at his feet was his mother's wedding ring.

: : :

Voices coming from a room on the first floor prompted him to hurry past, unconcerned that his thudding had awoken the portrait again. The second floor had two rooms and, only pausing for the briefest moment to make sure it was silent, he picked the one at the far end of the hall and dashed inside.

It just was not his night.

Potter whirled around, startled by his abrupt entrance. He was standing by an open wardrobe in the opposite corner of the room. Draco dimly noted the room's high ceiling and double beds before remembering that the whole reason for all of this—the Dark Lord's return, his father's imprisonment, his mother's death—was standing right in front of him. Sense cast aside and wand forgotten, Draco lunged at him with his bare hands. Potter only had time to raise his own hands in self-defence before Draco slammed him against the wall.

Potter may have been stronger, but Draco was taller, and skinny or not he was still a vigorous teenager and fuelled by adrenaline and fury. Potter cursed and tried to heave him off and go for his wand, but Draco grabbed the hilt of it first and yanked it away from him, throwing it aside. He had one forearm jammed against Potter's throat and the other hand holding the wrist of his wand arm, while Potter punched him hard in the stomach with his left hand.

'Malfoy—get—off!' Potter snarled, swearing.

Draco ignored the second punch and increased the pressure on his throat, slamming Potter's head back into the wall again. He was viciously satisfied to hear Potter choke. 'You stupid—selfish—I should fucking kill you—I fucking  _hate_ you, you fucking pillock!'

Potter stopped trying to punch him in favour of dealing with the more immediate problem of being choked. One-handed, he managed to shift Draco's arm enough that he could breathe. 'What the fuck is your problem?'

' _You_!' Draco snarled, slamming Potter's wrist back as he tried to writhe out of his grip. ' _You_ are the fucking problem, just like you're  _always_ the fucking problem!'

Abandoning his hold on Potter's neck and wrist, Draco balled his hands into fists and beat them against every inch of the stupid pillock he could reach. Potter gasped as Draco's fists slammed into his collarbone, and he caught his wrists even as Draco kept trying to hit him, holding him steady. 'Malfoy! Stop!'

But Draco wasn't stopping. He'd never stop, not until he'd hurt Potter as much as he possibly could, until Potter looked like Draco felt—like a beaten, bloody pulp of a corpse, cast aside and forgotten. He had to keep hurting Potter, because he couldn't let Potter see him like this again; he had no right, no fucking business seeing Draco like this, exposed and broken and unable to hold it in. He had no right to see Draco  _feel_.

Potter didn't look angry or contemptuous anymore, simply bewildered. 'Malfoy, what—'

'It's your fault,' Draco rasped out, trying first to hit his shoulder, then to pull away, but Potter's grip was firm, restricting his movement. Draco threw another ineffective punch. 'It's all your fault.  _Your_ fault that she's—she's—'

Potter's eyes narrowed briefly, then widened. His hands tightened further on Draco's wrists. 'Your mother?' he asked tentatively.

Draco let out an enraged cry and hit him again, and again; this time Potter made no move to stop him, just closed his eyes and took the assault, and somewhere in the middle of it all, Draco's knees stopped working and he sank to the floor, dimly aware that he was crying. Potter went with him, and all Draco wanted to do was keep hitting him and hitting him until he'd cried enough to drown them both in his misery.

He didn't know how long he crouched there on the floor, forehead pressed against Potter's shoulder and sobbing like a two-year-old, but his body was aching and the left side of Potter's shirt was sopping with his snot and tears by the time he quieted. Potter waited patiently until his breathing came even again before he spoke.

'Listen, Malfoy—'

Draco tried to push him away, but his energy was spent. 'Go away,' he said weakly.

'No,' Potter said. 'Not this time.'

'Fuck off.'

'Shut up,' Potter ordered. He let go of Draco's wrists but did not get up. 'God. Just. Shut up, Malfoy.'

Draco did not waste his breath pointing out that he'd stopped talking. Released, he rolled away from Potter, planting his back against the wall and pulling his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them. In his peripheral vision he saw Potter look down at the wet spot on his shirt and wrinkle his nose. He straightened his glasses and leaned forward, picking up something Draco'd dropped in the fight.

After a moment, Potter said, 'Was this hers?'

Draco ignored him, choking down another sob. Potter didn't understand. He never could. His parents had been dead from the beginning.

Lucky him.

'What happened?'

'None of your fucking business.'

'I think it's some of my business.'

'Well, you're wrong.'

Potter finally looked at him. Draco felt his eyes rake down to his left forearm, partially uncovered during the struggle. The mark there was scorched black, cold to the touch and burning into his flesh just the same.

'I'm sorry about your mother,' Potter said finally. 'Really. If there was anything I could have—'

'Shut up!' Draco shouted, curling up more tightly. 'I don't want to hear it. She's dead. I failed, and she's dead.'

'I'm just trying to—'

'I don't want your  _help_ , and I don't deserve any comfort!' Draco shouted again, closing his eyes. 'Just shut the fuck up and go away.'

He heard Potter shift, and then there was silence. No sounds of footsteps. When Draco finally opened his eyes again, Potter was still there, watching Draco, eyebrows pinched together.

'Why do you push people away when they try to help you?' he asked.

'What?' Draco looked up at him, startled. 'What the fuck are you—I don't—you're not—'

'I am,' Potter told him firmly. 'You're a right bastard and I've met Blast-Ended Skrewts I like more than you, but I'm still trying to help you. And so was Snape—I heard the two of you arguing at the Christmas party, don't look so surprised. What's your deal?'

Draco managed to lift his lips in a half-hearted sneer before turning away. 'Fuck off, Potter. You don't know the half of it.'

'Oh, don't I? You think you're the only one who's lost somebody, Malfoy? The only one whose had to deal with  _him_?'

'I don't see a tattoo on your arm!'

'Maybe not,' Potter snapped, and Draco recoiled as he crawled closer. Potter thrust his forearm at Draco, sleeve pulled back to show a jagged scar on the underside. 'But he's left more than one reminder for me. I understand a lot better than you think I do.'

'Yes, Potter, I forgot. Your ugly scars give you such a  _good_ understanding of the situation.' Draco snorted mirthlessly, looking away. 'Spare me, would you?'

Potter pulled his arm back and studied Draco in silence for several tense moments with an unrelenting green stare that Draco forcibly ignored.

'I don't understand you,' Potter finally admitted.

'I don't care,' Draco informed him coolly, eyes snapping back to his face. 'Why are you  _still here_?'

'Well, this is my house, you see.'

'And?'

'And my room,' Potter finished, raising his eyebrows. 'You burst in on me, remember?'

When Draco didn't answer, Potter stood up, dusting off his jeans and straightening his shirt before offering Draco a hand. Draco scowled at it.

'Please go away,' Draco said again, too exhausted now to care that his voice was thick with fresh tears.

'I will,' Potter told him, hand still extended.

'I don't need your coddling.'

'I'm sure you don't,' Potter replied calmly. 'But if you want me to leave, you'll at least get off the floor.'

'Merlin, you're insufferable,' Draco spat, glaring up at him. 'Why are you doing this? Are you enjoying this  _that_ much?'

Potter stared at him, hand faltering slightly. 'No,' he said shortly. He sounded oddly furious. 'I'm not enjoying it at all, actually. Now get the fuck off my floor, Malfoy.'

Ignoring his hand, Draco stood up, glaring through his tears.

Potter scowled in return and shoved his hands in his pockets. 'There's bedding in the wardrobe,' he said. 'Kreacher doesn't do a thing in this house, so you'll have to make your own bed.' When Draco just stared at him, Potter added, 'You do know  _how_ , don't you?'

'Of course I fucking know how,' he snapped.

'Good, otherwise you'd be sleeping on a bare mattress,' Potter spat back. 'The bathroom's downstairs, on the left. Don't use the one upstairs, there's a ghoul living in the toilet.'

Draco wrinkled his nose. 'A ghoul. How quaint. This is a lovely house you own, Potter.'

There was nothing remotely gracious about the smirk that Potter adopted. 'If Sirius hadn't left it to me, it'd probably be yours, now.'

Before Draco could retort, the door creaked open and Weasley stuck his head in. 'Oh,' he said, his face darkening as he spotted Draco. 'Is he giving you trouble?' he asked Potter.

Draco turned away, his pride still intact enough that he was determined not to let a Weasley see him in his current sorry state. He heard Potter behind him say, 'No, it's all right. Is he here yet?'

'No,' Weasley answered. 'I heard Snape saying Dumbledore won't be here till morning.'

'Right,' Potter returned. Then, 'Okay. I'll be down in a minute.'

Draco heard footsteps, then the door closed again. He experienced a brief moment of hope, entertaining the possibility that Potter might have finally taken the hint and left him to be miserable in peace.

At a quiet shuffle behind him, he heaved a heavy sigh, despairing at Gryffindor levels of intellect.

'Just—' Potter began, then paused. 'Just try to get some sleep, all right?'

Draco rolled his eyes. A waste of effort, he realised afterwards, because Potter couldn't see it. 'You think?'

There was a pause, then more footsteps. Another pause followed the door creaking open, then Potter's tentative voice asked, 'Malfoy?'

Draco was going to kill him. ' _What_?'

Potter hesitated, then mumbled very quickly, 'D'you need anything?'

He closed his eyes and willed himself not to spin around and hex Potter into next week. 'Just for you to piss off, thanks.'

Potter slammed the door so hard the portrait two floors down started wailing once more. Draco retrieved linens from the wardrobe, sunk onto the nearest bed and attempted to drown himself in the duvet.

: : :


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the record, I do not intend to make Tonks a drunken sot in all of my fics.
> 
> Just most of them. But you adore drunk!Tonks, admit it.

**Chapter Three**

_Your hands are really shakin' something awful  
As your worries crawl around inside your clothes  
How long will you be sittin' in the darkness  
Heaven knows_  
\- J. Osborne

: : :

Draco spent the next two days in bed.

It felt more like a week, but he carefully counted the number of times the sun appeared and disappeared outside the window, casting warm shadows around his room through the drapes. They began as small orange lines against the door, and slowly stretched into long, diagonal rectangles across the bottom-half of the door and the floor. He would spend most of his day watching the dust turn golden and spin in the light, like a million tiny, dancing Snitches.

The rest of his room remained dark and indistinct, and he sought refuge in the aphotic corner his bed resided in, comparing the tiny dust Snitches to the way sunlight used to reflect off his mother's hair on a bright day. Or thinking about how she'd never send the house-elf to wake him during the summer months when he slept in like Father had, but always came into his room herself, and her soft murmurs and light touch on his hair would slowly pull him from sleep.

And he'd think about how he would never see or hear or feel any of those things ever again.

His bed at home was much larger and comfortable than his bed here.  _Potter's bed_ , he corrected himself. Whatever. Potter had obviously found himself somewhere else to sleep, and so far he and his lot had mercifully left Draco alone. Leaving the room only in the early or late hours when the house had grown still to plod downstairs to the loo, Draco was aware but uncaring of the fact that he'd been lying and sleeping in the same robes for three consecutive days. He had not combed his hair or brushed his teeth, much less ingested anything that wasn't water straight from the tap.

He liked the routine; the less energy he had the less of it he could waste on sobbing. If he kept himself exhausted beyond tears, he didn't have to cry. He could mourn like a man was supposed to—aching and in despair, but composed.

What Potter had witnessed had been unfortunate timing and circumstance. It would not happen again.

Draco did not acknowledge the fact that he'd promised himself that very same thing last time Potter caught him weeping like a small child. He decided to skip his evening trip to the loo, and eventually his mind faded into a fitful sort of sleep, filled with blue eyes and golden hair that shone in the sunlight.

: : :

He woke with a start the third day. Judging by the rectangles of light on the floor, it was about midday. The soft knock sounded his door again, and Draco rolled over to face the wall and ignored it.

He closed his eyes as he heard the door open. Whoever it was could sod off, because he refused to acknowledge he was awake. Mother would have known better than to bother him like this.

'Draco? Are you awake, dear?'

The use of his first name startled him, but he did not move and forced his breathing to remain shallow. He had been expecting Potter, demanding his room back, or perhaps the werewolf, but this voice was female. Older. Motherly, even. The concern in her tone was not false, and for half a crazy moment, Draco considered rolling over.

'All right, dear,' said the voice that clearly knew he was awake. 'I'll just leave this for you. But you should know that Severus and Albus will be stopping by this evening after tea, and they'll be wanting to speak with you.'

He waited until the door had closed before rolling over and slowly sitting up. On the stand by his bed— _Potter's bed_ —sat a silver tray with a pitcher of what looked like pumpkin juice, a kettle of tea with a cup, and a small selection of comestibles. Draco had been able to ignore the hunger pangs until now, and his stomach growled aloud and he reached over and plucked an apple off the tray to placate his body for the time being.

On the bed by his feet were a small pile of Muggle clothes. Draco only had to sniff his present robes once to decide that they would be worth changing into, if only to be kind to Snape when he came to call. Finishing the apple and going through the entire kettle, Draco grabbed the clothes and snuck downstairs to the bathroom, which was thankfully deserted.

He had only been to the Black House when he was very small, but he still remembered this bathroom. When he had been three, the tub had been like a pool to him. He could hear the ghoul in the bathroom above his own as he started the bath, howling and clanging against the pipes. While the tub filled, Draco leaned over the sink and studied his face in the mirror; his eyes were sunken and swollen, lids dark pink and raw, old tear trails were caked onto his cheeks, and his hair was an oleaginous disaster, knotted and matted from being cried on and neglected.

'Merlin's beard, you look repulsive,' the mirror informed him. 'Don't let Mistress see you like that.'

Grimacing in self-disgust, Draco turned away from mirror and decided drowning himself in the tub was not an option, as being found by Potter and assorted Weasleys in such a state of disgrace would simply not be fit for his end.

: : :

Either Draco was imagining things, or Potter's house was rather infatuated with him.

After a long and undisturbed soak in the tub, the mirror informed him he'd look much nicer if he removed the scowl, but that he was bound to survive the Mistress' opinion. Draco did not bother pointing out said Mistress had been dead and gone for years, because mirrors didn't tend to retain information all that well, and the simple fact that he thought it was amusing that Potter's own house didn't acknowledge him as the owner.

The Muggle clothes he'd been given fit reasonably well, so they couldn't have been Potter's, because Potter was shorter than he was. Or Weasley's, for that matter, otherwise he'd have had to roll up the cuffs. This made him feel reasonably better about wearing them. They weren't bad, really; The jeans were very dark blue, almost black, and there was a long-sleeved grey shirt to wear under the black, short-sleeved button-up. He looked all right, he decided, and it was nice to get out of the school robes. They had become odorous to a really repulsive degree.

His hair was still damp but in order when he finally left the bathroom, and the portrait on the wall outside had looked up at him and smiled approvingly. Then it had said, 'Those clothes don't suit you at all, but you're fine-looking boy.' Even though Draco was well aware he was nothing special in the looks department, he still possessed enough aristocratic features that he could hardly complain. It wasn't until he'd wandered downstairs into the living room that he realised that he was, perhaps, the only person present that the house seemed willing to cooperate for.

Lupin and a young, brightly-coloured witch were wrestling with the mantle, which was simply refusing to open its iron gate. The young witch had short, shockingly pink hair stuck up in spikes and was dressed similarly to Draco, her wand sticking out the back pocket of her jeans. She had one boot up on the fireplace and clawed at the iron bars with both hands.

'Bloody buggering stupid arsing piece of—'

'Language, darling,' Lupin remarked absently, abandoning the mantle as he looked up and saw Draco. 'Hullo, Draco. How're you feeling?'

The witch turned her head and blinked in surprise at him. She had a heart-shaped face and a pinched-looking nose, but very familiar eyes. As soon as she was distracted, the fireplace slammed its gate closed on her fingers with a loud snap. She uttered a long string of words that made Lupin attempt to frown and smile simultaneously.

'I'm fine,' she declared as Lupin attempted to check her fingers, which she promptly stuck in her mouth to suck on.

It was very cold in the room, Draco decided, and it would be much warmer with a fire going. Stepping between the two, he squatted before the fireplace and tapped the gate with his wand.

'Draco,' Lupin began, 'I don't think that's—'

Draco ignored him and laid his palm against the gate, saying, 'I'm cold. Open up.'

Lupin and the witch blinked as the mantle slid smoothly open at once, and even went as far to set the wood on the grate alight. It crackled merrily, and Draco stayed where he was for a moment, enjoying the warmth, before standing up and turning around. Lupin and the witch were both staring at him dubiously. He smirked.

'Pureblood,' he said, by way of explanation.

Lupin smiled faintly. The witch grimaced. 'That's not fair. I'm just as much Black as you are.'

The full significance of her statement took an extra moment to sink for Draco. 'I'm sorry,' he said. 'What?'

'Oh,' the witch said, looking startled. Lupin was smiling openly now and made an encouraging gesture. 'Er,' she said after a moment. 'I don't believe we've properly met.'

Draco raised an eyebrow. 'Obviously.'

'Oh, you  _are_ just like your mum,' she remarked absently. Then at the look on his face, added, 'Oh, sorry, I didn't mean—bugger, I'm terrible at this.'

She looked to Lupin for help, who offered, 'She's Andromeda Black's daughter. Your cousin.'

Well, thought Draco, that explained the eyes. 'The half-blood?'

Lupin frowned and the witch folded her arms. 'Yes, I'm half-blood,' she said. 'Just like your buddy Snape.'

'And just like Voldemort,' said a voice behind them, causing everyone to wince. Lupin stepped aside to reveal Potter, standing alone in the hall. 'You remember him, don't you? The one you swore allegiance to?'

'Fuck you, Potter,' Draco spat. 'The Dark Lord is better wizard than any of you.'

'Half the wizard, from your angle,' Potter shot back.

'Children,' Lupin interrupted. 'The bigotry really needs to stop. You are both on the same side, now.'

Draco lifted his chin. 'I'm not on anybody's side.'

'Then you're going to find yourself very alone and without aid,' Lupin informed him. 'I understand times have been hard for you, Draco. They've been hard for all of us, and you are only one of many to have suffered losses.'

'Remus is right,' the witch said before either boy could retort. She cast a wary look at Draco before stepping forward, uninjured hand outstretched. 'We can at least try to get along. I'm Tonks.'

Draco looked at her hand. Just as he decided to tell her where to shove it, he looked up at her eyes, and all he saw there was his mother.

He took her hand and shook it once, and she beamed at him. Lupin looked pleased while Potter just looked dumbstruck.

'Nice to meet you, my dear Tonks,' she supplied for Draco as he remained silent. She did a decent imitation of his drawl. 'My name's Draco. I've heard heaps about you, you look just like your dear mum, but don't we all? Let's skip the pleasantries and go have a drink.'

Lupin suddenly looked a lot less pleased. 'Ah, I'm not sure—'

'I'm of age,' Draco informed him shortly, casting a smirk Potter's way. 'Unlike  _some_ people.' He smiled at Tonks. 'I'd love to.'

'Excellent!' Tonks closed her hand around his and dragged him towards the hall. 'You like Firewhisky?'

He sneered smugly at Potter on their way past. 'Love it.'

Draco was viciously pleased to see Potter, scowling, give him the finger as she pulled him the stairs towards the kitchen.

: : :


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written _ages_ before Tonk's official canon house (Hufflepuff) was made known to the general public. I still think she fits Slytherin better, anyway.

**  
Chapter Four**

_I've never felt so lonely  
Never felt so out of place  
I've never wanted something more than this_  
\- Savage Garden

: : :

When teatime finally rolled around, Draco had long migrated back into his room, lest he find himself in a kitchen full of very unfriendly freckles and glares. Tonks had gone with him, tripping over half the steps and carrying a pile of her spare clothes—he'd found out the clothes he'd been borrowing were hers.

She talked a lot, and it reminded him much of himself back at school before the war. He wondered for a while how anyone could still be so happy; she'd told him she was going to be twenty-six that August, but she acted much like Pansy Parkinson had at the Yule Ball after ingesting far too much cake—like a hyperactive six-year-old. He found it refreshing and, more importantly, distracting, and he was grateful for her company.

When she'd told him she was a Metamorphmagus, he'd been incredibly jealous. He knew it had run in the Black family, but was still incredibly rare. Why couldn't  _he_ have been born one? Oh, the chaos he would have caused. She then amused him fully by, albeit a bit slurrishly, describing how she had done just that during her years at Hogwarts. Her favourite had been in her sixth year, when she discovered that impersonating Professor McGonagall and then attempting to teach first-years Transfiguration was a very, very bad idea and grounds to get one's self expelled. Dumbledore had apparently found the whole ordeal highly amusing and let her off, as long as she promised to ask permission next time, because impersonating people without asking could come off as a bit rude.

Draco felt like he hadn't laughed in years.

She was currently sitting cross-legged on the bed across from him and doing a very accurate imitation of McGonagall reprimanding a student. It looked rather silly because she'd morphed herself into a disturbingly accurate image of himself, despite the fact that she was a girl. When he pointed it out, she'd told him he was an easy boy to impersonate, because she had small breasts and they had the same cheekbones.

'I honestly don't have to do much, except for the hair and the nose,' she explained. 'You could probably get away with being a girl, if you put socks down your front. Small socks, mind.'

'I could not,' Draco said, mildly insulted.

Anyway, he didn't think her breasts were  _that_ small—but then he reminded himself that this girl was supposedly his  _cousin_ , not to mention ten years older than he was, no matter how pretty she was.

Also, he still technically had a girlfriend.

'It's not an  _insult_ ,' she insisted. 'It's just a Black thing. Blacks always were very pretty. Like your mum,' she went on, looking at him fondly. 'My mum says Narcissa always was the prettiest of the lot.'

Draco smiled faintly but did not answer. She was right, of course; he'd seen pictures of his aunts, and met Bellatrix last year in person. His mother had made them all look rather unfortunate.

Someone thundered down the stairs just then, banging on the walls, pausing briefly at the door to hammer on it and shout, 'OI!' before galumphing down the rest of the stairs. Tonks perked.

'Ooh, that means dinner's ready,' she said happily. Pinching her nose, she turned back into her pink-and-spiky self. She hopped off the bed and looked at him, perhaps wondering why he didn't look so enthusiastic. 'Aren't you coming?'

'No,' he said. 'I'm not hungry.'

'You will be when you smell Molly's cooking,' she assured with a sympathetic look. 'Oh, don't look at me like that. They won't bite. Well, Remus might, but it's not a full moon so you needn't worry.' She winked at him and offered a hand up. 'Come on.'

'No, really,' he said, shaking his head. 'I'm not hungry.'

She pursed her lips and sat back down on the edge of the bed beside him. 'Come for company? It's not good for you, hanging around this dark room all day.' When Draco didn't answer, she followed it up with a pout for good measure. 'Please? I can't be the only drunk one at the table, it'll be horribly embarrassing.'

'I'm not drunk,' he said truthfully, but sighed. 'I'll—in a bit. Not just yet.'

She gave him a suspicious look. 'You  _promise_?'

He rolled his eyes. 'Yes, I promise.'

'Yay,' she sing-songed in celebration. 'I'm glad I finally got to meet you; you're not so bad. You look good in those jeans, by the way, so you may keep them.' She stood up and swayed, but miraculously stayed on her feet. 'Oh, also, there's a very nasty drape in the master bedroom that keeps trying to strangle me and Remus in the middle of the night. You think you could, you know,' she waved her hand a bit, 'do that whole pure-blood business sometime and make it behave?'

'Sure,' he said. She was halfway to the door when he fully realised what she'd said, and he blurted, 'Wait—you two share a  _room_?'

She turned around at the door and blinked at him. 'Of course we... ooh, you don't know, I totally forgot. Remus and I are, ah... well.' She beamed at him and blushed. 'I'm in love with him, basically.'

He gaped at her. 'But he—he's a  _werewolf_!'

'Well-spotted,' she congratulated him. 'Now don't forget you promised to come down, or I  _will_ come back up here and get you. And if you make me climb those stairs again, I shall bring strapping young Weasleys with me, whom I've been assured would be more than happy to tie you up and drag you down by force.'

She smirked at the slightly dazed expression on his face. 'You're not the only Slytherin in  _this_ house, Draco Malfoy.'

And then she flounced out the door, leaving Draco gaping in her wake.

: : :

Draco got halfway down the stairs to the kitchen before he changed his mind about going to dinner.

The room was alive with noise. It sounded as if there were dozens of people inside; many of the voices were familiar. Potter's voice was the easiest to pick out, curt and inelegant, followed by the loud, vulgar tone of his Weasley boyfriend, underneath both of which there was the occasional snippy comment from Granger.

Tonks' friendly and slightly slurred voice faded in and out, and usually ended in giggling. But it was the startlingly loud and identical cackles of the Weasley twins that actually halted him on the steps, and he suddenly realised what he was walking into.

Enemy territory. Certain Doom. The Lion's Den—quite literally, in this case, as they were  _all Gryffindors_. Half with red hair and freckles and had fathers that had  _attacked his father in public bloody bookshop_.

In this brief, frozen moment of terror, he caught some of the conversation. His Inner Slytherin kicked in immediately and, terror be damned, bade him to stay and eavesdrop.

'Cannons'll cream 'em,' Weasley was saying loudly. 'Seriously, Allen's too good.'

 _God, Weasley,_  Draco thought, rolling his eyes.  _You are a besotted idiot with an orange fixation._

He sat down on the step by the threshold and managed to get an angle that allowed him to peer in without much chance of being noticed, and could see that Potter was shaking his head. 'Allen's not better than Lynch,' Potter told him. 'He mightn't be able to top Krum, but he's still a damn good Seeker. Do you even  _remember_ the Cup? There's no way the Cannons' Beaters will keep up with Ireland's Chasers.'

Draco thought,  _Weasley, listen to the speccy git. He knows what he's on about._

Then he realised that that meant he was admitting Potter had some intelligence, and scowled and hoped that the Cannons creamed Ireland this summer.

'So,' Granger said, cutting through the now-heated argument about whether the Cannons' pair were up to the challenge of Bludgering Ireland's trio, 'where's Malfoy? He's not still locked upstairs, is he?'

'Locked?' Tonks said, looking at Potter while spooning peas onto her plate. 'You didn't lock him in, did you?' She spilt peas all over her lap.

'Er, what?' Potter said, eloquent as ever, before catching up with the conversation. 'Um. No, I didn't.'

'Who cares?' interrupted Weasley through a mouthful of potatoes. 'Let him stay up there. I like him better when I can't see him.'

'You mean he's been up there for three days without food?' Granger asked, and Draco was horrified to note she actually sounded concerned.

'I brought him some lunch today,' said the person at the bench. Draco focused on the familiar voice and saw who he supposed must have been Weasley's mother; he'd only seen her twice, once when he was twelve and again on a newspaper cover, but if he had any doubts, they were washed away by her red hair. 'When I went and got the tray he'd eaten a little. I do hope he comes down, though, he's a growing boy. Needs more than tea and apples...'

'He'll be down,' Tonks assured her. 'Promised me he would. Or I  _will_ go and drag him down. By his ears,' she added, and promptly knocked over her pumpkin juice.

'Ooh, can we come?' one of the twins asked, entering the conversation.

'We've got rope,' the other offered.

'And we're good at grabbing ears, too,' added the first.

'Mum's given us lots of practice.'

Weasley snorted over his plate. Granger and Potter both exchanged looks and Granger frowned slightly, and it felt like an ice cube had slipped down Draco's throat into his stomach. Potter'd told her, then.

'You lot lay off,' Tonks admonished. 'He's had a rough few days. And he's really not so bad to talk to.'

Potter frowned along with Granger. 'You don't know him like we do.'

Tonks raised her eyebrows. 'Maybe that's  _why_ we got along.'

'Tonks is right,' Granger said suddenly, sitting up. 'I mean, he's a right prat, but he still did the right thing in the end.'

'Oh, is that right?' one of the twins growled.

'You want to tell that to Bill?' said the other. All the laughter had vanished from their voices.

'Bill doesn't blame him,' Mrs Weasley pointed out. Draco wished he knew who this Bill person was, and more specifically what he had supposedly done to him. 'And the rest of you shouldn't, either. I know he's not a very nice boy, but...' she sighed slightly, and looked fondly at Granger. 'Hermione's quite right, he did do the right thing, and you lot need to remember that.'

'I remember Bill,' one of the twins said fiercely. Ron and the other looked in agreement, and Potter's frown become even more pronounced.

'Well I won't have you picking fights at my table,' Mrs Weasley said firmly. 'So mind your tongue around him, or you can cook yourselves dinner.'

'Yes,  _mum_ ,' they chorused, but looked as if they planned to do nothing of the sort.

'And anyway,' Mrs Weasley went on, turning back to the stove. 'He's lost his mum, the poor dear.'

'Oh, right,' Weasley said, 'like he'd give a damn if anything happened to  _you_.'

' _Ron—_ ' Granger began.

'Oh, give it a rest, Hermione,' he interrupted. 'I'm tired of all this "pitying Malfoy" crap. He's just a prat. Always was, always will be. The only reason he didn't kill Dumbledore is because he's a bloody coward. Probably didn't even blink when he heard about his mum—'

'Leave it, Ron,' Potter snapped. 'You don't know what you're talking about.'

Weasley looked rather shocked and offended. 'Sorry,' he muttered after a moment, when Potter did not elaborate.

'Don't talk rubbish, Ron. You know Malfoy loved his mum,' Granger piped in. 'He always was really defensive about her. I mean, he's been really horrible, but... I don't think he would have used it as a weapon if anything happened to one of our mums.'

Draco normally would have been beside himself if someone claimed such a thing; of course he would have used information like that as a weapon! It would be the ultimate way to hurt someone, something like that. Especially in the Weasley's case.

Only now, Draco didn't think it was so funny anymore.

'Hermione's got it right,' Mrs Weasley said approvingly, then turned a hard gaze towards her sons. 'I want you to at  _least_ make an effort with him.'

 _Oh no_ , Draco thought. He had not sunk so low as to need pity from Weasleys. He decided he'd heard quite enough to make his decision about dinner, no matter how good the food smelt and how loudly his stomach as complaining; he stood up and turned to leave, and walked right into the biological equivalent of a wall.

It was easy to forget that under the tatty robes there was the steel body of a werewolf. This man did not need any more calcium, Draco decided. He felt quite dazed.

'Hullo again,' Lupin said, peering at him and raising an eyebrow. 'Done already?'

Scowling with his arms crossed over his chest, Draco was unceremoniously marched into the kitchen with Lupin at his back. All conversation immediately hushed and three pairs of identical blue eyes framed by freckles fixed on him like hungry lions.

'Hello, dear,' Mrs Weasley said, smiling at him. 'Come and have something to eat, you must be starved.'

Her sons quietly snarled at him, as if daring him to make a remark about their mother or her cooking that could be in anyway taken as offensive. Draco crushed the urge to recoil; it would have been pointless, anyway, with Lupin's hand on his shoulder. He was trapped between Weasleys and a werewolf. This was it: he was going to  _die_.

'Have a seat, Draco,' Lupin encouraged him.

Draco looked at the table, which suddenly looked much too small when inhabited by Weasleys and their kind. There were two open seats: one between the twins that he was  _sure_ hadn't been between them before he was marched in the room, and one beside Tonks. But on the other side of that chair was Granger.

Between the identical madmen with intent to kill, or next to the Mudblood that was feeling sorry for him. Life was so very cruel and unfair.

'I'm really not hungry,' he offered to Lupin. 'Really. I'm actually—quite knackered. It was the Firewhisky. Blame your nymphet. I think I'll go have a kip.'

The edge of Lupin's mouth twitched, but he gave Draco a good push towards the table. Draco considered the conversation he overheard before he came in, and decided that Granger feeling sorry for him was a more comforting thought than the twins' apparent fixation with seeing his blood, and edged to the seat between her and Tonks. He stood there for a moment, hovering, wondering if he could make a break for the door, but Tonks seized him by the sleeve and pulled him down into the seat.

'Don't worry,' she said, slinging an arm around his shoulder and leaning over as three pairs of blue eyes homed in on him. 'I'll protect you.'

Considering that Tonks was rather small and thin compared to the three tall and burly Quidditch players—two of which were quite talented at yielding large bats—Draco, surprisingly, did not feel all that comforted. Instead, he felt his best chance for survival at the moment would be to clamp his mouth shut and stare at his empty plate, which Tonks began to laden with food when he made no move to do so.

Clamping his mouth shut was very unproductive when he was expected to eat, he soon found out. If he thought he'd sated his hunger earlier on two apples and a pot of tea, he had been sorely mistaken. It did not help his mouth-clamping resolve that the Weasley Mother seemed to be exceptionally talented in the catering department.

'Eat,' Tonks said encouragingly, through a mouthful of what appeared to be potatoes and peas. 'S'gooood.'

'It really is,' Granger offered from the other side of him, in a tone that was  _much_ too placating.

'Don't you dare talk to me,' Draco snapped automatically. It took considerable effort not to tack 'Mudblood' on the end, but he knew doing so would have earned him at least four black eyes.

Even still, the chatter at the table faded into a murmur at his words, and Draco instantly regretted not just silently ignoring her. Potter, straight across the table, was glaring at him through his glasses.

Weasley narrowed his eyes. 'Don't  _you_ dare talk to her like that,' he said.

Draco met his gaze and smirked. 'Or  _what_?'

'Boys,' Mrs Weasley said serenely, reminding them at there were Adults Present and murder would not be tolerated at her dinner table. She focused her gaze on Draco and said, 'Eat, darling. You need to.'

'S'good,' Tonks reminded Draco, practically purring into his ear. 'Molly's potatoes are better than  _sex_.'

Lupin, sitting between the twins and eyes on his plate, coughed quietly.

The twins broke into identical grins and Tonks quickly amended, 'Well. Better than sex with  _most_.'

'This conversation needs to end now,' Weasley pleaded.

'I agree,' chimed Lupin.

'Eat up,' Tonks said to Draco, thumping him encouragingly on the back and grinning like an insane person.

Potter was smirking down at his food, Granger was giggling like an idiot, and the twins were winking suggestively at Lupin. For a blissful moment, the table seemed to forget that Draco existed. He considered eating his food. He even picked up his fork and twirled it experimentally a few times. His stomach cheered him on.

Then, Weasley said, 'So, uh. Malfoy. We heard about your mum.'

The table seemed to still as one. Only Draco's eyes moved, flickering up from contemplating his plate, and he desperately wished looks possessed the ability to kill. Weasley flushed slightly and swallowed, but was still very much alive. Weasley shifted uncomfortably in the sudden tenseness he'd created. He did not seem able to hold Draco's Avada Kedavra glare and wisely decided to ogle his peas instead. 'I mean—I was just going to—I'm sorry,' he finished lamely. 'I mean, it's. Really horrible and all.'

Mrs Weasley positively beamed at him—which of course had been what he was going for. Potter, on the other hand, was shooting furtive looks between the two of them, as if expecting one of them to leap over the table. Draco was seriously considering indulging him.

Mrs Weasley made a noise in her throat, eyeing the twins. They glowered at her.

'Yeah,' muttered one. 'S'terrible.'

The other murmured something that sounded vaguely like 'condolences' and Draco wanted to kill somebody.

He remained absolutely still and kept his eyes fixed on Weasley, who still wouldn't look at him. He slowly put down his fork and sat back in his seat, tilting his head to the side and folding his arms.

'You all seem to be under the impression that I desire your sympathy,' he said slowly. 'Let me assure you, I require nothing of the sort.'

Mrs Weasley's face fell; Lupin and Potter both looked up at him as one, and Tonks shifted uncomfortably beside him.

He went on: ' _Some_ of you are suffering from the delusion that I did not strike down your dear shining Headmaster out of compassion.  _Some_ of you,' his eyes flickered to the twins, then back to Weasley, 'claim I did not succeed out of cowardice. Frankly, I don't care what you think. My reasons are my own. But let me make one thing perfectly clear.'

He paused briefly, and then continued, 'If I had known that lying sonofabitch did not have the capacity to keep his promises, I would have killed him without a second thought. If I could do it all over again, I  _would_. Because none of you, least of all that old fool, have ever been keen to protect anyone except your own. I do not need you, or your help, and least of all your fucking pity. So do me a favour and quit the act.'

A long silence followed his words. Draco didn't take his eyes off Weasley, who was now glaring at him. The twins looked furious, and Lupin looked very tired and serious, but it was Potter who spoke first.

'You know what, Malfoy,' he said, sitting back himself. 'That's awful rich, coming from you. We're just keen to protect our own, is that so? Then what the fuck are  _you_ doing here?'

Draco was prepared to combat this, but Potter stood up and cut him off. 'No, you shut up and listen, and you bloody listen good. You mightn't had the bollocks to kill Dumbledore, but you still let  _Death_ _Eaters_  into the  _school_. Do you remember what you told Dumbledore on the tower? That you stepped over someone on the way up? Do you want to know who that was, Malfoy?'

'Harry—' Lupin began.

'No!' Potter shouted, standing up. 'He doesn't want pity?' He turned his gaze back to Draco. 'Good. You don't deserve it. That body you stepped over was Bill Weasley. Their older brother,' he tossed his head at the Weasleys present, all whom were scowling. Potter's hands were shaking so badly he had to ball them into fists and brace them on the table top as he spoke. 'He was going to get married in a few weeks, did you know that? And thanks to  _you_ , that might never happen, because your buddy Greyback thought it'd be amusing to tear into him even though it wasn't a full moon. And now the wounds aren't healing right. He won't ever be the same again, all thanks to  _you_.'

Then Potter stopped and waited, and Draco realised everyone was watching him, and then realised they were waiting for him to say—what? How could he have—he didn't even... 'I didn't know Greyback would be there,' Draco said finally, voice oddly small. 'I had no idea.'

'Just like you had no idea that Katie Bell would touch that necklace,' Potter spat, eyes furious and hard. 'Just like you had no idea that Ron would drink the poison instead of Dumbledore. Just like you don't know that if I hadn't given everyone the rest of my Felix potion that night, that they'd all probably be dead. And in spite of all that, Dumbledore  _still_ offers you sanctuary, the Order is still trying to protect you. Even in spite of you nearly killing her son, Mrs Weasley is cooking your  _fucking dinner,_  and you—'

'I didn't know he'd be there!' Draco shouted back, standing and blindly furious. 'You think I'd have let that—that  _thing_ into Hogwarts? My friends were there, too, Potter!'

'Oh, so  _what_?' Potter returned viciously. 'If you'd known Greyback was coming along, would have told Voldemort  _no?'_  The entire room flinched at the name.'Don't even fucking pretend like you give a damn what happened to anyone else except  _you_ and  _your_ stupid family, Malfoy! As long as  _your_ mum was safe, anybody else could—'

Draco had gone for his wand, but Tonks anticipated as much, grabbing his elbow; being an Auror paid off, because she was much stronger than he was. Lupin had already stood up and moved towards Potter, who pulled out his own wand, but it was a voice at the door that halted them all.

'That's quite enough, Harry,' Dumbledore said, stepping into the kitchen. 'I think you've made your point to Mr Malfoy.'

: : :


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

_Just when every thing's in order and good, things fall apart_  
Just when life should be resolving, you're back at the beginning  
And it comes back to the heart  
\- Cyndi Lauper

: : :

Potter was still gripping his wand and Tonks still had Draco by the elbows when Snape stepped out of Dumbledore's shadow. He was glaring murderously at Potter.

'Molly,' Dumbledore said lightly. 'Bill has been transferred to St Mungo's.'

'Are Ginny and Charlie still with him?' Mrs Weasley inquired.

Dumbledore nodded. 'Alastor, Arthur, and Miss Delacour as well. I imagine they'll be back as soon as Bill's been settled in.' His gaze floated over the table. 'I'm sorry to interrupt, but I require to speak to Mr Potter and Mr Malfoy alone. I must ask the rest of you to have an early night.'

Granger, Lupin, Tonks, Weasley and the twins all began moving immediately while Molly quickly began gathering extra food into bowls with her wand. Weasley and Granger both paused at the door, looking back at Potter, but eventually followed the others out. Draco and Potter both still had their wands out, but had lowered them at the appearance of the Headmaster, settling for glaring coldly at one another.

Mrs Weasley was bustling past when Draco suddenly had a thought, and reacted before he could think better of it.

'Mrs Weasley.'

She stopped, looking surprised. 'Yes, dear?'

'I,' Draco started, thrown off by the narrowed stare Potter had fixed him with. Draco looked away from him and at Mrs Weasley instead. 'I really had no idea. I'm—'

'It's all right, dear,' Mrs Weasley assured, interrupting him. 'I know. We don't blame you.'

Draco stared at her. He could not understand, for the life of him, why she wouldn't. If his situation had been reversed, his mother would have  _killed_ the one responsible. ' _Why?'_

Much to his chagrin, she smiled faintly at him. 'Because there's only one person to blame for all of this, dear. And it isn't you.'

She left, leaving Draco feeling extremely hollow.

Potter was still glaring at him, but more bewildered than murderous. Dumbledore bade her goodnight before addressing the boys. 'Molly is quite right,' said the Headmaster. 'But now that I have you both here, I need to—'

'I don't give a damn what you need,' Draco snarled, and both Snape and Dumbledore looked at him. Draco was gripping his wand so tightly his hand was trembling. 'I don't care what you want, or what you have to say.'

Dumbledore sighed. 'I am truly sorry about your mother, Draco. Be assured we did everything we could.'

'You're a liar,' he hissed through his teeth. His throat felt very tight all of a sudden.

'He isn't a liar!' Potter snapped.

'Harry, please,' Dumbledore said, before turning his attention back to Draco. 'No, Malfoy is quite right, I'm afraid. I should not have made a promise I was unable to keep. For that, I could only ask if you can forgive an old man's mistake.'

Draco's teeth were trembling against one another so hard it hurt. 'Never,' he hissed. 'I will never forgive you for that.'

Potter opened his mouth again but Dumbledore quieted him with a raised hand. 'I do not blame you,' Dumbledore said, sounding sincere. 'Your mother's loss was extremely unfortunate. And it is part of the reason I have come here tonight. But first...'

He paused, looking briefly sideways at Snape, who pressed his thin lips together until they were as white as the rest of him. Dumbledore must have interpreted this as permission to continue. 'There is something very serious both of you need to know, and I need your word that it will not leave this room.'

Immediately, Potter said, 'You have my word.'

In the silence that followed, Snape's eyes fixed on Draco. Dumbledore did not look at him, but said, 'It would be in both your best interests to know, but if you find yourself unable to keep the information in confidence, I must ask you to leave.'

Well, sod that, Draco thought bitterly. As a Malfoy he may have been bred with a large amount of pride, but as a Slytherin he was engineered with an even larger amount of curiosity. His pride really never had a chance. 'I'll keep it to myself,' was all he offered.

This seemed to satisfy the old wizard. 'I did reveal to you both, three nights ago, that I had been aware of your rather… reckless attempts all year to bring about my demise; yet, with your best interests in mind, I did nothing to interfere. And although I also knew you planned to grant access to Death Eaters into Hogwarts, I did not know  _how_. And despite his best efforts, Professor Snape was unable to persuade you from sharing his plans.'

At those words, Draco felt an involuntary, vicious sort of smugness.

Dumbledore continued: 'When Professor Snape first informed me that Voldemort—' (Both Draco and Snape winced at the Dark Lord's name.) '—had summoned young Mr Malfoy, I took certain precautionary measures. Had Draco decided to delegate control of the situation to me a moment too late, I daresay I would probably not be here having this conversation with you.' He paused and Snape tensed, as if dreading the worst. Dumbledore looked directly at Draco and finished, 'Had that occurred, I must confess that Professor Snape had very specific orders from me to carry out the deed in your place.'

There was a moment's silence as this information sunk in, and then both Draco and Potter shouted  _'What?'_ at the same time, but with vastly different degrees of disbelief and indignation. Potter looked quite like he wanted nothing better than to murder Snape on the spot. Draco just gaped at him.

'Harry, please,' Dumbledore said patiently, anticipating an outburst. 'I understand you find this hard to believe, but have my assurances that Professor Snape was acting on my orders—'

'Bollocks he was!' Potter shouted back. 'I heard him talking to Malfoy—over Christmas—his mother made Snape take an Unbreakable Vow—'

'I am well aware of that,' Dumbledore interrupted. Snape narrowed his eyes, clearly furious that Potter had snooped in on their talk at the Christmas party. 'One of the first things Severus assured me was that, without a shred of a doubt, Narcissa would seek out help in protecting her only child. With Lucius in prison, he suspected she would immediately come to him. He was, unsurprisingly, quite correct. I asked him to make whatever promises he felt he could keep, even if it included the worst, as long as it was in the best interests of her son.'

'Sure you did,' Draco spat, rolling his eyes. 'You expect me to believe that? You, offering your life in place of a possible Death Eater's? Please.'

Dumbledore turned his gaze to Draco, eyebrows raised. 'I think it's quite safe to say, Draco, that by your actions that night, you proved me quite right in believing your life one worthy of being spared.'

Draco did not know what to say to this, so he just clamped his jaw shut. His throat felt very tight again.

'Which brings me to the other reason I came here tonight,' Dumbledore continued. 'While the other students were promptly returned home after the incident, there is still much that needs to be righted at Hogwarts before it is fit to be safely occupied again. Most importantly, the Vanishing Cabinet in the Room of Requirement, which none of us are able to access except Mr Malfoy. Order members were sent to Borgin and Burkes to investigate its significant other but, unsurprisingly, it has vanished and Mr Borgin conveniently does not remember ever being in possession of such an artefact.'

Dumbledore paused again. He seemed to be waiting for a reaction, and Draco was too entirely frustrated at the world to keep his silence out of pure spite. 'So what? They probably took it to the Manor when I told them it was finished. You don't expect a bunch of wanted Death Eaters to walk out in public, even in Knockturn Alley.'

'I suspected as much, but if the matching Cabinet was indeed at your home, it has been since removed.' Dumbledore adjusted his glasses and focused entirely on Draco. 'And because of this, Hogwarts is still currently accessible to whoever holds the other Cabinet. Which is why I require your services, Draco, in opening the Room of Requirement so we may destroy the other link.'

Draco narrowed his eyes. 'Why are you telling me all of this?'

'As I said before, I regret my inability to keep all of my promises; I consider it only fair that you understand the full details of the situation of which you were so thoroughly involved with.'

'Sorry,' Draco sneered, ' _all_ of your promises?'

'You are alive, are you not?' Snape demanded, stepping forward. 'The Headmaster promised you and your family sanctuary; he has, at least, kept part of the deal.'

Draco folded his arms and looked away. He wanted to do nothing for the old wizard, no matter what Snape said; truth be told, now he truly  _did_ want to kill him—if only he'd known that night, what was to come... 'And if I don't?'

Snape answered for Dumbledore again. 'Then I daresay you will leave me with no choice but to expel you from the institution, Mr Malfoy.'

'What?' he and Potter chorused again. Draco kept talking: 'What the hell do you mean,  _expel_ me?' Surely, he'd already been banned from Hogwarts forever?

'Just what I said, Mr Malfoy.' Snape's lips adopted a smirk. 'The Headmaster and myself hardly wish to deprive you of the rest of your education, much less safe sanctuary from the Dark Lord. However, if you refuse to cooperate—'

'You can't honestly be thinking of letting him back at school!' Potter demanded, pointing an accusing finger at Draco. 'He let Death Eaters into Hogwarts! He nearly got us all—and he's a bloody— _he's got the Dark Mark!'_

'So does Professor Snape, Harry,' Dumbledore said mildly. 'And think of him what you may, I trust the man with my life—as well as my death. It would be unfair not to offer Draco a similar accord.' His gaze turned back to Draco. 'Well, Mr Malfoy?'

Draco opened his mouth and closed it again. Snape was giving him a very hard stare, and Potter looked shocked and indignant and furious all at once; obviously, the idea that Draco had any chance at continuing to attend Hogwarts had not entered his mind. Despite it being obviously what Dumbledore wanted, Draco was trying to think of an alternative option, and could not—and just the simple knowledge that this infuriated Potter made it that much more appealing.

'Yeah, all right,' Draco said shrugging. 'I'll open it for you.'

'Excellent,' Dumbledore said, looking pleased and immediately making Draco regret his decision. 'But it is already late, so I shall call on you tomorrow afternoon and travel with you to Hogwarts. In the meantime, I suggest you get some rest. Professor Snape, if you'd escort Draco upstairs; I wish to speak with Harry for a moment.'

'Certainly, Headmaster,' Snape replied icily. 'Mr Malfoy.'

Scowling, Draco shot Potter one more nasty look before allowing himself to be led up the stairs. Once in the hall and alone, he turned to Snape. 'Is it true?'

'Is what true, Mr Malfoy?'

' _Stop calling me that_ ,' Draco hissed. 'You know what I mean. My father. Is it—did he—'

Snape looked extremely grave; it seemed he was able to sense the constricting of Draco's throat, and did not require him to finish. 'I'm afraid so, Draco.'

And Snape left him standing there in the hall, staring at the wall, exiting the house so quietly that Draco did not realise he'd opened the door until he'd closed it.

: : :

Draco was not crying again.

No, he'd promised himself he wouldn't. He wasn't this weak. These were tears of rage, pure frustration and hate—it wasn't the same thing as weeping. It wasn't.

He lay in his bed, curled in a foetal position atop the duvet, sweating and blanketed in cold fury. He may have failed to kill Dumbledore, but this time it would be different. This time, he wanted to kill. This time, he would not fail.

The door to his room creaked. Draco opened his eyes, and saw a dark figure standing in the doorway. After a moment, Potter came in and closed the door behind him, making his way into the room.

'What do you want, Potter?'

Potter halted mid-stride, tensing. 'I want to go to sleep,' he said stiffly. 'Is that a problem?'

'Why are you going to sleep in here?'

'Because this is  _my room_ ,' Potter spat back. 'We went over this, remember?'

Draco sat up, holding himself up with his hands propped on the mattress behind him. 'Then where the hell am  _I_  supposed to sleep?'

'I really don't give a damn, Malfoy,' Potter said, sounding tired. 'There  _are_ two beds in this room.'

'What about the other rooms?'

'Ginny and Hermione are splitting a room on the first floor, the twins are downstairs with Ron and Charlie are across the hall, and Lupin and Tonks are sharing the master bedroom upstairs.' Potter paused, folding his arms. 'Would you prefer to share with one of the Weasleys? I'm sure Fred or George would be  _thrilled_ to split a room with you.'

Draco bared his teeth, preparing to hurl a nasty comment about Weasleys and their plebeian lives, before the details of the sleeping arrangements halted him. 'So where have you been sleeping the past three days?'

Potter glared coldly at him. 'On the couch,' he said shortly.

'... Oh,' said Draco.

'Anyway,' Potter said, turning away from him. 'I'm bloody knackered, so you can leave if you want. Don't feel the need to ask.'

Draco watched with hooded eyes as Potter pulled off his jumper and jeans in the darkness on the other side of the room, then proceed to pull on a pair of flannel pyjama bottoms and crawl into the other bed, collapsing in an unorganised heap.

He wondered where he would be right now if he hadn't failed, or if he hadn't lowered his wand in time. He wondered what Dumbledore talked to Potter about in private. He wondered how Potter found it so easy to just crawl in the same room as him and just pass out without a worry.

He wondered why he cared.

: : :


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

_Hiding the tears in my eyes  
I just try to laugh about it  
Covering it all up with lies  
Because boys don't cry_  
\- Cure

: : :

Draco was thoroughly miserable.

After Potter settled down and fell into a quiet slumber, Draco laid back in his bed and stared at the ceiling. There were a number of reasons he was unable to immediately fall asleep, including but not limited to the viscous, burning hatred and betrayal festering inside of his chest, more silent tears of sheer frustration at everything, and a pounding headache as a result.

There was also the simple fact of acknowledging that Potter had not only failed to vex Draco because of his emotional weaknesses, but even kipped on the sofa for a few nights to let him recover from it. It boggled Draco that instead of taking advantage of it, Potter'd slept on a couch in his own home so his worst enemy could recover.

Well, perhaps not his  _worst_ , but Draco was pretty sure he was up there.

It was a new and strange perturbation and Draco found himself tripped up on what was denoted by the act. He didn't know what to do with it, where to take it, or even if he had to do anything with it at all, and more importantly, he was unable to figure out why he couldn't just brush it off. Should he have acknowledged it? How did someone – especially someone like  _him,_ in this case – attest to something like that?

He didn't even know where to begin. Draco wasn't used to being grateful for anything, and the one person Draco never imagined he'd feel anything of the sort for was quietly curled up across the room from him, apparently asleep and unaware of the turmoil he'd caused.

A large knot kept forming in Draco's throat whenever he thought about it, and his headache had grown to epic proportions. What little sleep he managed was fitful, at best. And if he had to go back to Hogwarts tomorrow, forced to reveal the secret he kept for a year and face up to it, it was promising to be just as miserable a day, too.

: : :

The first thing that registered in Draco's head upon waking was that the entire world was screaming and falling apart at the seams. He nearly had a panic attack.

A quick evaluation of the situation enlightened him that the sky was not, in fact, falling down upon London, and that earthquakes didn't normally involve loud, off-key singing. As it turned out, the shaking was due to Tonks bouncing on the edge of his mattress and the thunderous, badly-vocalised lyrics to  _Its A Kind of Magic!_  from the latest Weird Sisters album coming through the floor, presumably from the Weasley twins' room. Draco took a moment to pray silently to Merlin for  _five more minutes_  because he would surely die if he sat up right now, and stuffed his face back in the pillow.

'Wake up, sleepy head,' Tonks sing-songed, ruffling his hair. 'Breakfast in twenty, and you want to use the loo before Ginny gets it. She takes  _ages_.'

Draco growled incoherently and burrowed his head underneath the pillow.

'All right, but Molly says if you're not down for breakfast, she's sending the twins to get you.'

Draco groaned, slightly more coherent. What these people had in mind, getting up at the crack of dawn, he had no idea.

' _Up_ ,' Tonks admonished, forcibly dragging him out of his comfortable cocoon by taking away his pillow, which served as the only barrier he had between his face and the morning sunlight. The girl had been properly sorted, for sure; she was completely evil and unforgiving.

'I don't like you,' he informed her, grimacing.

'I don't like anybody before I've had a cuppa either,' she returned. 'Come  _on_ , you haven't eaten a decent meal in half a week.'

'M'not hungry.'

'Hungry or not, if you allow yourself to grow weak and frail, you  _will_ be picked off like a sickly animal in this house.'

Draco considered this. It was probably true. 'I'll be picked off anyway.'

'Not if I can help it,' Tonks said cheerfully. ' _Up_. Merlin, you're worse than Harry. Get up!'

Well, Draco thought, he was already worse than Potter with enough that he did not need to add waking up to the List of Things Potter Did Better. Sighing heavily and rubbing his eyes with one hand, he struggled into a sitting position. Draco was somewhat surprised to find that he did not expire on the spot as expected, although he certainly decided that this is what it must feel like to be an Inferius, and was overcome with a huge surge of sympathy for the undead.

He squinted at Tonks, sitting on the edge of his bed. 'Okay,' he said. 'I'm up.'

'Do I look stupid?' she asked. He was tempted to be honest; anyone with bright pink hair looked fairly stupid, really. 'I'm not falling for that. I'll leave once you're up and walking and off to the loo.'

Like he'd said: completely evil and unforgiving.

Sighing in resignation, Draco paused briefly before hauling himself out of bed and to his feet, stretching, and his back made some muffled cracking noises.

Tonks winced. 'You're all knots, aren't you?' she remarked, frowning. 'Though I suppose you would be, what with the chaos that night and all. We'll have to sort you out later, though, I still need to go wake up the girls.'

She stood up and looked him over. He turned away, aware his eyes were still red and raw and his hair was an absolute disaster, he was just too tired to do anything about it. 'Are you all right, Draco? I mean, all things considering – you look – '

'I'm fine,' he said shortly, squinting at the sunlight pouring through the windowpane. 'Really.'

There was a tell-tale pause in which Draco could imagine her pursing her lips, much in the way his mother used to when she knew he was lying through his teeth. Finally, he heard Tonks sigh. 'All right, I'll take your word for it. But listen, if you need anything – I mean, I know the others aren't very fond of you, but they'll warm up. Just... give them some time.'

Draco wanted to tell her he didn't  _want_ them to warm up to him, and really couldn't care less if they all suddenly dropped off the edge of the world. That, in fact, he'd prefer it. Instead, he said, 'I'll be down in ten.'

He waited until he heard the door open and close before he allowed himself to turn around, and noticed a new pile of clothes by his bed. Sighing heavily, Draco miserably wondered when his world had been reduced to the charity of Muggle-lovers, and slowly started to change.

: : :

Life at number twelve, Grimmauld Place was about as far from Draco's norm as was remotely possible.

At home in the Manor, it was always  _quiet_. Even when Draco had had his friends around, the volume was kept minimal by his mother casting Muting charms over the rooms they occupied. Father hated unnecessary noise. His family didn't even talk at mealtimes – meals were for eating, not chatting, Father'd always say. It'd taken Draco a year and half at school to break the habit, before he was comfortable talking all he pleased while at Hogwarts before his plate we clean.

Headquarters was alive with noise. The Weasley twins decided that the best way to wake everyone up would be by galumphing through the halls and down staircases, singing Weird Sisters songs at the top of their voices. Draco had barely opened the bedroom door before he decided that singing was not among the twins' talents. The portrait downstairs was screaming again.

'Oi, Harry!' one of the twins shouted gleefully, thrusting his head in the door before Draco had it open properly. He squinted at Draco. 'Oh, look Fred, it's our new pet  _ferret_ ,' he sneered. 'Where's Harry?'

Draco sneered right back. 'Snuffing it, hopefully.'

'George, leave him,' said the other twin, tugging him back into the hall. 'Don't want mum starting this early. We can kill him later.'

'After breakfast?' the first inquired hopefully.

Draco watched them disappear down the stairs with a horrible sense of foreboding. He needed to get  _out_ of here.

It wasn't that the twins' threats actually troubled him. He still had his wand, and he could take care of himself well enough. It was just that he didn't  _belong_ here. The atmosphere was wrong – it upset his internal decorum, just being here with these people. Hogwarts was bad enough, but this place had made him more homesick in three days than school had managed in  _six years_  and he felt... he actually felt  _nauseous_. Physically sick right to his stomach. If he'd eaten properly in the past few days, he'd probably need to be sick into the toilet.

After a quick trip to the loo to make himself somewhat presentable, Draco slipped as quietly as he could down three sets of stairs into the basement kitchen, successfully avoiding any collisions. The kitchen itself was quiet aside from the clanking of pots; Mrs Weasley was the only one in the room.

'Fred!' she snapped without turning around as she heard Draco enter. 'I told you, ten minutes!'

She whirled around, sporting a flora apron and wooden spoon in hand. When she saw Draco, both her voice and expression softened immediately. 'Oh, good morning, dear. Here, have a seat, we'll give you an early start – that lot's like a pride of lions in the morning and you've not had a proper meal in days.'

Draco didn't bother to argue. He slipped in the nearest chair as Mrs Weasley bustled around, waving wand and spoon, lowering a plate laden with food in front of him. It wasn't until he'd taken the first bite that Draco's body seemed to remember how very hungry it was, and he was halfway through his second helpings by the time the noise above migrated down the stairs, filling the kitchen with people.

There were two more people this morning than there were the previous night. She-Weasley gave him a scathing look as she took a seat next to an older Weasley Draco didn't recognise – his appearance was similar to that of the twins, and was dressed in dragon hide trousers and a sleeveless shirt, displaying a large burn on one of his upper arms.

Tonks nearly fell over her chair before sitting in it properly, just beside Draco. 'Told you her potatoes were good,' she said, winking at him and stealing a bite off his plate.

By the time the rest had gotten their rations and sat down, Draco was finished, and about to quietly excuse himself when the older Weasley said to the table at large, 'So, the Healers at St Mungo's think Bill's going to be all right.'

Lupin, Potter, and all of the Weasleys looked up as one. Lupin in particular looked interested. 'That's good, Charlie,' he said. 'Do they have any idea what the side-effects will be?'

Charlie shrugged. 'He'll have the scars for life, but they're not nearly as bad as they were.' He smirked at Lupin. 'Apparently, one of the perks of being a werewolf is the ability to heal fast.'

'Indeed it is,' Lupin said mildly.

'Is that it?' Weasley demanded. 'Just the scars?'

'Well, no, they can't say for sure until he's had a few full moons,' Charlie admitted. 'They've had a few cases similar to his, where people've been attacked just before nightfall or after sunrise – probably also by Greyback – and so far none of them have become true werewolves.'

'They said they reckon the worst that'll happen is he'll get a little moody whenever the moon's waning,' She-Weasley added.

'Yeah, Fleur says they'll  _both_ have monthlies now,' Charlie finished, looking thoroughly amused. There was a moment's pause before most of the males at the table grimaced and the girls dissolved into giggles.

'That's disgusting,' Weasley said helpfully, pushing his plate away.

'Where are you going?' Tonks asked as Draco tried and failed to use this distraction to make a getaway.

Thinking quickly, Draco supplied, 'To go straighten out your homicidal drape, remember?'

'He shouldn't be going anywhere alone.' Draco froze and narrowed his eyes at the She-Weasley, and she narrowed her own right back. 'Who knows what he's doing.'

'Ginny!' Mrs Weasley admonished. 'Really, that's uncalled for. Professor Dumbledore – '

'So's what he did to Bill! I don't care what Dumbledore says!'

'You should,' Potter said quietly, eyes on his plate.

'Harry, you can't honestly  _trust_ the bastard!'

'Ginny!' Mrs Weasley exclaimed again, looking scandalised that her daughter even knew that word.

'No, I don't,' Potter said. He looked up at Draco, then back to Ginny. 'But he doesn't need a babysitter, either.'

'If you think I'm letting that slimy, two-faced git out of my sight – '

'I  _am_ right here!' Draco snapped, and everyone looked at him. His murderous gaze was still focused on Ginny.

'I'm well aware of that,' she snapped back, baring her teeth at him. 'And I don't care if your mother died, Malfoy, you're not getting any pity from me. It's your own fault she's dead, just as it's yours that Bill's the way he is – '

'Ginny – ' Lupin started to interrupt, but Draco talked right over him.

'I know, and I'm fucking sorry!' he shouted at her, all the frustration and anger and guilt inside of him suddenly bursting, pouring out and coating his words. Ginny recoiled as if he'd slapped her. 'And I don't want your pity! Or your sympathy or your fucking forgiveness! And I don't  _want_ to be here anymore than you do, and if I had anywhere else to go, I'd be gone in a heartbeat, because you can all go to hell for all I care!'

On his way out of the kitchen, he heard Weasley remark behind him, 'Well  _done_ , Gin.'

Draco took care to slam the door at the top of the stairs with a lot more force than was necessary.

: : :

The murderous drape upstairs was easy enough for Draco to soothe. He'd simply dusted it off and told it to stop trying to strangle his cousin and her partner, mostly because they were the only defence he had against everyone else in the house – who, on the other hand, were fine to choke if they got close enough. The drape had fluttered adoringly against him instead of attempting to wring his neck, which Draco had interpreted as a positive response.

The master bedroom was enormous; nearly occupying the entire top floor, save for the second bathroom across the hall that the ghoul was occupying. The bedroom appeared even larger because it was so empty; there were no portraits or pictures or other decorations around the room, and the surfaces of the minimal amount of furniture were bare save for a few necessities. A wardrobe in one corner was ajar, and one of Tonks' brightly-coloured jumpers was dangling out, clashing against the otherwise drab colours of the room.

The far corner was what drew Draco's attention, however. Something long and large was covered with a canvas sheet, lumpy and uneven and boasting a fine layer of dust. He didn't recognise the shape. His curiosity roused, Draco wandered over to it and carefully peeled back the edge, wrinkling his nose against the unsettled dust as he pulled the canvas up and away.

Shielded from the dust, the chrome remained polished and gleamed against the morning sunlight pouring through the windows. Draco stared at the machine, transfixed by the light, the corner of the canvas still pinched between his fingers. Surprise was an understatement, for a Muggle motorbike was about the last thing he'd have ever expected to find in the old Black house.

'It was Sirius',' said a voice from the doorway.

Draco dropped the canvas like it had burned him and wheeled around. Potter was leaning against the doorframe, arms folded, watching him with a slight tilt of his head. Draco stared at him. 'Sirius _Black's_?'

'D'you know any other Siriuses?' Potter asked, looking smug. 'He was my godfather.'

'I know,' Draco said. 'My father – ' And then he stopped, choking on the word. He snarled and looked away.

He heard Potter shift slightly. After a moment, Potter cleared his throat and said, 'Dumbledore sent an owl – he managed to clear his appointments early, so he'll be coming for us at noon.'

' _Us_?' Draco scowled. 'He only needs  _me_ to open it.'

'I left the same time you did, remember?' Potter asked. 'My trunk and things are all still there, too.'

Draco hadn't even thought of that – his robes, books, even his old broom – they were all still at Hogwarts. Come to think of it, they were probably the only possessions left he had to call his own.

This epiphany did nothing to help Draco's foul mood. He said nothing.

'And, um,' Potter continued in the silence, frowning slightly. 'Sorry about Ginny. She tends to get defensive – especially with Bill, he was her favourite brother.'

'I really don't care, Potter,' Draco snapped, looking back up at him. 'I still meant what I said.'

'Did you?' Potter asked, raising an eyebrow.

Draco narrowed his eyes. 'I don't want their pity. Or yours.'

Potter shrugged. 'That's not what – I mean, I figured you wouldn't,' he said quickly. 'But you meant the apology,' he inquired, looking curious.

Draco met his gaze evenly. 'I wouldn't of said it if I hadn't,' he said stiffly.

And Draco did mean it – he was angry that he hadn't just dealt with Dumbledore and kept his mother alive, but that did not mean he was proud of what happened as a result. He did not like the Weasleys, after all, but he knew Greyback—the werewolf had been a close friend of his father's. He remembered the visits Greyback used to make to the Manor when he was younger, and how his mother would shout at his father about it, and trail Draco from room to room, afraid that if she let her son out of her sight that he might end up alone in a room with the pedophilic beast. Father never seemed worried about it, and Draco had clung to his mother like a shield.

Greyback scared the living hell out of Draco. He'd seen what the monster did to people under the Dark Lord's new regime, and he wouldn't have wished that on anyone.

Not even a Weasley.

Potter just kept looking at him, and Draco wondered when the Gryffindor learned to keep his face impassive. Potter usually didn't disguise what he was feeling, even if it was the worst – Potter was reckless with his emotions like that, it's what made hurting him over six years so easy. But this time Potter just stared at him, eyes and face blank, and Draco would have given his broom to know what was going through Potter's head.

' _What_?' Draco snapped, unable to withstand the silence a moment longer.

Potter didn't look perturbed by the outburst. He just shrugged again. 'Nothing. I'm just surprised, is all.'

'About what?' Draco demanded.

'You.'

Potter was still staring at him with that blank, unrelenting gaze, and it was driving Draco insane. He hated being searched and analysed, as if he were some sort of poison that – if someone studied thoroughly enough – they could discover a cure for. Snape had been looking at him like that all year; Dumbledore had been looking at him for six years; his father had been looking at him like that his _entire life_.

And now Potter was looking at him like that, and Draco had never hated him more.

'By all means, Potter, enjoy your delusions about my reformation,' Draco sneered as he strode up to him. 'Go ahead, get your hopes up.' He smirked at the surprise that flickered over Potter's face as Draco stopped in front of him, lowered his voice and finished, 'So I have something to look forward to when I disappoint you.'

Draco shoved Potter out of the way with his shoulder, pushing him off the door frame, and Draco retreated downstairs before the other boy could muster a response.

: : :

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Just one quick credit** \- _It's A Kind of Magic_ is actually a song by Queen and, incidentally, the inspiration behind my domain name (http://jad.akindofmagick.net). Fred and George aren't singing the Queen song, though – just borrowed the title of the song because I'm not creative like that and I am a Freddie Mercury _whore_.


	7. Chapter 7

 

**Chapter Seven**

_I think guilt and innocence_  
are a matter of degree;  
What is justice to you  
might not be justice to me.  
\- Ani DiFranco

: : :

While it was sunny and clear in London by the time Dumbledore showed up that afternoon with a Portkey, it was dreary and drizzling heavily in Scotland. Three horseless carriages were waiting for them when they arrived outside the gate to the grounds, parked between the two winged boars. A fair number of the Order had accompanied them, most of them trained Aurors; with the other Vanishing Cabinet still unaccounted for, while the other remained at Hogwarts there was still a risk of Death Eaters crashing the party and Dumbledore wasn't taking any chances.

Dumbledore instructed Potter and Draco to get under Potter's Invisibility Cloak immediately upon arrival, just in case. Potter obeyed immediately and Draco thought about making a nasty remark about how well trained Potter'd come, but he was distracted once again by how very close he was forced to stay to Potter when under the cloak. Potter and he were both as tall as many of the adults – taller than some – and squeezing them both under the cloak was no easy feat.

Every time the carriage hit a dip or lump in the road, Draco's thigh would bump against Potter's, knocking their knees and shoulders together. Potter said nothing and Draco, still seething from that morning, clamped his teeth shut and stared fixedly out the window. Kingsley Shacklebolt and some other Auror Draco didn't know sat across from them. Dumbledore sat on Harry's other side, humming quietly under his breath as the carriage jostled along up to the castle, pulling to a halt outside the stone staircase leading to the Entrance Hall.

Hogwarts sat before them like a barren and worn citadel. Scorch marks decorated the high stone walls, some with craters, some with rubble swept up against them, leaving a clear path in the middle for the party to walk through. There was no blood, though – no bodies, no evidence of who or what had passed through only a few nights ago. It had the aura of a forgotten battlefield where spirits lingered like chills. Draco felt like he was walking through a tomb.

Dumbledore made him and Potter stay underneath the cloak, 'Just in case', which was unfortunate, because Draco had frankly had quite enough close-contact with Potter in the last three days to last him three lifetimes. Draco wasn't even that tall, only half a head on Potter really, but even still they had to stoop as they walked, and their shoulders and elbows kept knocking together, much harder than was probably necessary. Both boys were wearing similar scowls to show just how much effort was going into the restraint not to snap at one another, once more under orders from the Headmaster to remain 'As invisible as humanly possible.'

McGonagall greeted them just inside the Entrance Hall with a severe look, flanked by more Order members. Draco sighed inwardly. He'd been hoping Snape would be here.

'Albus,' she said by way of greeting. Her eyes lingered on the space where Draco and Harry stood momentarily, and Draco tried without success to get an idea of what she was thinking.

The trip from the Entrance Hall to the main staircases of the castle was uneventful at first, an echo of quick footfalls and hushed breathing, tension hovering in the air around them. Just as the cold was beginning to get to Draco, a fiery pain stabbed at his arm, and Potter gave a sudden shout and collapsed.

Naturally, once Draco had thrown the cloak off them, everyone went to check on Potter first. He was kneeling on the floor and clutching his forehead with both hands, teeth grit and shoulders set, and spitting low, horrible hisses that chilled Draco to his core. Draco clamped his own teeth shut on his bottom lip and massaged his left forearm through the sleeve of his robes, not needing to look to know what had caused the pain.

Potter recoiled from the coddling, wincing and shaking his head, looking irate. 'I'm  _fine_ ,' he insisted, his tone still hoarse and sibilant. McGonagall frowned and whispered something to Dumbledore, who shook his head. Draco was actually glad for Potter's melodramatic performance for once, because it seemed nobody had noticed the pain in his arm.

Then Moody limped over, grabbed his left wrist without warning, and yanked Draco forward.

'Ow, watch it!'

Moody may have looked ragged and broken, but his grip was like steel; he twisted Draco's wrist up and over, shoving up the sleeve with his other hand and exposing Draco's forearm. The mark there pulsed red once, twice, and then with a hiss it faded to black again like a hot coal doused with water.

Draco hissed through his teeth.

'He knows the boy's here,' Moody growled, holding tight as Draco tried to wrench his arm out of the man's grasp. Every eye was fixed on the mark, and it was causing Draco's stomach to turn.

'I expected as much,' Dumbledore said mildly. His eyes left Draco's forearm and went to his face, watching him. 'Keeping you at Headquarters the past few days has evaded Voldemort, no doubt,' Dumbledore did not pause as Draco hissed through his teeth at the name, 'as I did expect he had... another way of keeping track of you, aside from that mark. And now that he has made the mistake of using it...'

Dumbledore raised his wand and Draco tensed. There were no words, but Draco could  _feel_  the magic crawling over him, searching for a trace of any charm or spell on his person—and Dumbledore was quite right, of course, that as the tracking spell had been so recently used, it would be much easier to locate. With another wave of his wand, Dumbledore wordlessly removed it.

'Much better,' Dumbledore said approvingly. 'But now that he is all too aware of your location, we must make way with haste. If you would lead the way, Draco...'

Draco glowered at Dumbledore, angry at being put on the spot so abruptly. His eyes swept the lot of them briefly; Potter was watching him as carefully as the rest, rubbing his forehead with his left hand, but looked more worried than suspicious. Draco sneered at him before turning away, and leading the party along a route that was so well-worn into his memory he could—and had—navigated it in the dark.

The majority waited at one end of the seventh-floor corridor, Dumbledore instructing Potter to stay back when he tried to follow the Headmaster, who was the only person aside from McGonagall and Moody to accompany Draco to the far end, where the hidden room was waiting. Dumbledore did not speak, but merely watched Draco silently and waited until Draco could not take his gaze anymore and began to pace, reciting the words in his head.

_I need a place where no one can find me. I need a place to keep it hidden from everyone._

_I need a place that's safe._

At his third pass, the Room of Hidden things appeared in the stone wall; a wide, old oak double-door with brass handles that Moody forced open with a strong shove. The doors slid open soundlessly, exposing a cavernous room with high cathedral windows, casting multi-coloured shadows on the maze of objects before them. Draco walked inside, Moody, Dumbledore and McGonagall following close behind him as he cut corners, leading them down one aisle and then the next, along a path well-forged into his memory.

He stopped after what felt like ages but had only taken about forty seconds to reach. McGonagall cast a lighting charm and the corner glowed under a soft, blue halo of light, directly underneath of which stood the largest object in the cluttered space.

The black-and-gold finish of the Vanishing Cabinet gleamed at them under the shimmering light. Its large, double-doors, slight curve and carved details were all-too familiar to Draco, who had learned the piece of furniture like one learned an instrument they played, memorising its imperfections and contours as thoroughly as the rate of his own heartbeat under pressure.

'Quickly,' Dumbledore urged, and Moody and McGonagall moved into the light together, wands at the ready.

But the Cabinet stood there quiet and exanimate, looming over them all and casting a large shadow in the dusty blue glow. McGonagall looked at Dumbledore, who nodded. Both she and Moody uttered a spell together and two identical red jets of light shot forth from their wands, and Draco watched a year's worth of trial and desperation erupt in hot orange flames, fully incinerating in less than a minute.

Draco looked at the pitiful pile of ashes on the floor, exhaled sharply, turned away and walked out of the room without a word.

Potter was still down the far end of the hall, both his and Draco's school trunks at his feet, talking to Tonks and looking annoyed. Draco was too tired to even take pleasure in that, or to even toss him a sneer. He just wanted to  _go home._

'Now that that's settled,' Dumbledore said quietly, rejoining the group with Moody and McGonagall at his side. His gaze turned to Draco. 'We must decide what to do with you, Mr Malfoy.'

Draco's defences went up immediately; so that'd been it, had it? Get him to open the door, let them in, then toss him to the authorities? Go bloody figure—no wonder Snape wasn't here, he was probably halfway to Azkaban—

'Hogwarts is once again safe now that the Cabinet is destroyed, however,' Dumbledore continued, 'I cannot have the task of watching over you myself, no matter how preferable that would be... there is too much to be done before the new school year, and—'

'What about Snape?' Draco snapped, interrupting. 'Why can't I stay with him?'

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. 'Because Professor Snape is perhaps in more danger than yourself or even Mr Potter at the moment, Draco, and I daresay he would not wish to place you in harm's way.'

Draco narrowed his eyes. 'What do you mean, he's in danger? He's a—'

'He  _was_  a spy for the Order,' Dumbledore corrected. 'Unfortunately, Greyback's escape alerted Voldemort—' (Draco again at the name.) '—to his true allegiance, and he must remain in hiding for the time being for his own protection.'

This did not please Draco at all. He couldn't stay at Hogwarts, he couldn't stay with Snape—he couldn't go home, of all places—where the hell was he supposed to go?

'We could set up another safehouse,' Kingsley suggested. 'Give him a different Secret Keeper, I could even get an official warrant for it easily enough—'

'But if the Ministry found out you were hiding a boy with the Dark Mark...' Tonks put in.

'There'd be hell to pay,' Moody agreed. 'I suppose we could always take our chances with an unsanctioned Charm...'

Kingsley shook his head. 'If they found out about that  _and_  a boy with the Dark Mark, it'd be miles worse—'

'He can stay with me.'

Everyone stopped talking abruptly, and turned as one to look at Potter, who was holding his cloak in one hand and wand in the other.

Draco narrowed his eyes further. 'What?'

'He can stay with me,' Potter repeated, ignoring Draco's gaping stare. He was looking at Dumbledore instead. 'Headquarters is safe enough, we have just enough room for him, it's as safe a place as any.'

'This is true,' Dumbledore said thoughtfully in a manner that suggested he'd been expecting the suggestion all along. 'It is, of course, up to Draco, if he would like to take you up on your generous offer of hospitality.'

His eyes twinkled and the edge of his mouth quirked, and Draco hated him all the more for being the manipulative sonofabitch that he was.

'I'd rather turn myself into  _Him_ ,' Draco snarled, glaring at Potter, 'than spend one more minute with you.'

Potter raised his eyebrows, then shrugged. 'Suit yourself, Malfoy.'

'Draco,' Tonks hissed. 'Don't be an idiot.'

'Your mother died protecting you, boy,' Moody growled. 'Fine way to repay her, handing yourself in. But you've no argument from me.'

Draco glowered at them all, grinding his teeth together and hating the position they had put him in. Of course he'd rather put up with Potter than ever face the Dark Lord again—but he'd hardly admit it, much less accept  _charity_ from the bastard.

And then Draco remembered hearing Snape talking to his mother that summer, and the look on her face when Snape'd said,  _'His pride will be the end of him.'_

Draco closed his eyes and sagged slightly, and Tonks put a hand on his shoulder to support him.

'Well?' Potter said. Draco opened his eyes, and saw that he was smirking.

'That's enough, Harry,' Tonks said, with such force that Potter blinked at her. 'You don't have to rub it in. He needs your help. We all do. Now that Draco's arrangements are settled, let's get the hell out of here, shall we?'

 

: : :

As the surplus of Weasleys were having an extended stay at Headquarters until Bill was well enough to leave St Mungo's (Charlie and the twins had apparently taken leave from work to do so), and that various members of the Order occupied rooms on a day-by-day basis, Draco was stuck sharing a room with Potter.  _Better than the alternative_ , Draco kept forcibly reminding himself as he was forced to change, sleep, wake and mingle with the prat diurnally. Ignoring him seemed to work well, and although Draco caught Potter watching him carefully from time to time, he seemed also seemed content to ignore Draco's presence, which suited Draco fine.

The pattern had just been becoming familiar, Draco had thought as he traded his robes for the pyjamas that were in his trunk that he'd picked up at Hogwarts three days ago, and then Potter went and fouled things up again.

It had to be three in morning, Draco thought briefly upon waking with a jolt, it was so pitch dark in the room. Then Draco's hearing caught up with his brain.

Potter was screaming.

Draco sat bolt upright, jarred and bewildered, staring at the opposite bed. He clawed around the bedside table for his wand, lighting it as he stumbled and tripped out of the covers and onto the floor. Potter was curled in a foetal position and facing the wall, so Draco couldn't see his face. But he was still yelling, incoherently with snippets of words Draco vaguely recognised, and Draco hissed at him to wake up, to  _shut up_  before he woke the entire household, but Potter didn't seem to be aware of anything outside of whatever he was dreaming.

Gritting his teeth, frustrated and exhausted and approaching the end of his rope, Draco seized Potter's shoulder and yanked him into view. 'Potter!'

Potter's eyes shot open, stared up at Draco for a split second, and then Draco suddenly found himself thrown up and backwards into the wall beside the window, Potter's hand at his throat. He was snarling violently, a long string of intelligible hisses pouring from his mouth without pausing for breath, green eyes wide and flashing in the feeble light of the wand Draco had dropped in surprise and was now lying useless on the floor beside him.

One word through those hisses melded just enough English that Draco could understand it, and chilled his blood as it slid over Potter's lips:  _'Severus.'_

Draco's mouth went dry.

Almost as abruptly as it had begun, the episode stopped. Potter stopped hissing, mouth still partially open, his wide eyes going from dangerous to confused so palpably that Draco watched the transformation with a horrified awe, still too terrified to move or speak lest Potter lash out again.

Potter stared at him a moment longer, his breathing coming in shallow breaths, blinked twice and let go of Draco, stepping back and away without a word. He looked around the room then, looking lost, then up at the blank portrait on the wall beside Draco's bed and ran to it, hammering his fist on it.

'What, what,  _what_?' came an annoyed, groggy voice from the blank portrait.

'Dumbledore,' Potter said impatiently, voice hoarse and still wavering in and out of a hiss. 'I need to see Dumbledore. Now.'

'Now?' mumbled the voice, sounding like it was speaking through a yawn. 'It's not even dawn, can't it wait 'till morning...'

'No, it can't!' Potter snapped furiously. 'I need to see him  _now!_ '

'Temper, temper,' chided the portrait. 'So demanding, children these days, no respect for their elders, either—'

The voice in the portrait stopped talking abruptly as Potter lashed out again, the harsh, sibilant tones of Parseltongue cutting through the cold air in the room like an invisible whip.

There was a small pause from the portrait following the outburst. 'Right,' it said finally. 'Now it is, then.'

'Potter,' Draco said, as Potter stood glaring at the empty portrait as if to dare it to disobey him again. 'What was that all about?'

Potter looked at him, startled, as if he'd just realised there was someone else in the room. His eyes narrowed, squinting, and Draco realised that Potter probably couldn't see him properly without his glasses. He didn't answer Draco; instead he stomped over to his own bed, grabbed his glasses and wand off the bedside table, and hastily pulled on a jumper he found on the floor.

Draco retrieved his own wand, moving away from Potter as quickly as he could. Potter didn't seem to notice, or even care that he'd woken up screaming and slammed Draco into a wall. Draco narrowed his eyes indignantly as Potter began to pace the area in front of his bed, frowning and rubbing his temples and completely ignoring Draco.

'Potter!' Potter stopped and looked up as Draco shouted, eyes murderous. 'What the fuck is going on?'

'Shut up,' Potter ordered curtly, looking back at the floor and resuming his pacing.

Draco curled his hands into fists. 'Why do you need to see Dumbledore?'

'None of your sodding business,' Potter said distractedly.

'What about Snape?' Draco snapped, undeterred.

Potter looked up at him again, frowning. He shook his head. 'Don't worry about it. Go back to sleep, Malfoy.'

'You expect me to go back to sleep after that?' Draco demanded incredulously. 'I want to know—'

'This may come as a surprise, Malfoy, but I don't give a shit what you want,' Potter said nastily. He sat on the edge of his bed, pulling on his trainers, and then stood and left the room without so much as a second glance at Draco.

Draco was not used to being ignored. Nobody got away with ignoring Draco, not even his own father.

At the thought of his father, Draco bared his teeth and scowled, following Potter out of the room.

He stopped at the top of the stairs when he heard hushed, urgent whispers below. Crouching above the top step, Draco pressed his ear between the bars of the banister and listened closely.

'Are you sure, Harry?' Dumbledore's voice, usually calm and serene, sounded shakier than Draco could ever remember hearing it.

'Yes,' Potter snapped impatiently. 'It was just like before, with Mr Weasley, only without the snake. But it felt the  _same_. It wasn't just a dream.'

There was a quiet pause. 'I trust your judgement, Harry,' Dumbledore said finally. 'I will investigate it. In the meantime, I need you to remain here.'

'Why? I'm not—I'm almost—'

'Harry,' Dumbledore said, the slightest hint of impatience coating his voice. 'Take care to remember the last time you followed your instincts on a similar matter. It would be quite foolish to put yourself in that position again.'

Potter fell quiet, uncharacteristically passive after such an order. After a pause, he said quietly, 'But I don't  _care_  about Snape.'

'We will worry about deciphering the motive later,' Dumbledore said quietly. 'I will return as soon as I know anything.'

Draco heard the door open and close again. He leaned his forehead against the cool wood of the banister, turning their words over in his head.

 

: : :


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

_'You're like the A-bomb. Everyone's laughing and having a good time,  
and then you show up, and BOOM! Everybody's dead.'_  
\- Master Shake, ATHF

: : :

It was ten minutes after Dumbledore had left and Potter still hadn't come back upstairs. Draco stared down at the dark hallway, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness, but couldn't see anything except a particularly ugly portrait of  _Cassiopeia_   _Black_  with her head lolling to one side and snoring, and part of the dirty threadbare carpet below. Already irritated at being ignored as if he were a child and growing even more irritated that there was very little he could do about it, Draco stood up straight and made his way down the stairs, taking care to be quiet enough not to wake anything.

He found Potter just opposite of the portrait of Cassiopeia Black, back against the wall of the stairs facing the portrait. His shoulders were held taut, legs brought up to his chest, arms crossed and forehead down against his knees. Potter didn't look up as Draco came to stand in front of him, leaning his back against the wall under the portrait and sliding down to sit opposite of him, staring relentlessly at his mop of untidy black hair.

Draco knew the position. He'd spent his first three days here alternating between lying curled on the bed and sitting similarly to how Potter was now. He almost felt sorry for him; it was fortunate that Draco was not a very empathetic person.

'I don't suppose you'll be enlightening me to why you needed to see Dumbledore at three in the morning,' Draco said.

Potter looked up and Draco tried not to wince at the severity of his glare. 'I don't suppose you'll be enlightening me to everything you've learned about Voldemort, either,' he snapped back.

At the mention of the Dark Lord's name, Draco did wince. He kept his mouth shut.

Potter sneered. Draco was impressed with the viciousness of it. 'Thought so.'

Draco narrowed his eyes. 'I don't know anything important,' he said. Well, it was  _sort_  of the truth. 'Certainly not anything of use to your lot.'

'Sorry if I don't believe you.'

'Sorry if I don't care,' Draco replied coolly. 'What – '

Draco never got to finish, as at the very moment there were several muffed  _cracks_  that sounded as if they landed right outside the front door. Both boys looked up at it expectantly, and could hear hushed, fervent whispers on the other side before someone said ' _Shh!_  D'you lot have any idea what time it is?' and the door slowly clicked open.

A large, jumbled shadow entered through the doorway, taking care to remain as quiet as possible. It wasn't very effective, as the hall wasn't very large and there had to be at least a dozen bodies trying to navigate in the dark.

Someone tripped over Draco's bent knee. He sighed and helped her off the floor. ''Lo,' he said.

Tonks muttered a curse and blinked at him. ''Lo,' she answered. 'What are you doing up? And on the floor in the dark, of all places? You could kill somebody.' She followed Draco's gaze to Potter, frowned, and pushed herself to her feet. 'You two should be in bed.'

Potter ignored her words. 'Well?' he asked, voice rising with every word. 'What's happened? Did you find him? Is he all right? Did Dumbledore – '

' _Shh_ ,' Tonks hissed at him. 'Later, Harry. I'm not the one to tell – you boys need to get off the floor, we need to get to the kitchen – '

As Draco started to stand, Potter followed, looking murderous.

'What do you mean, you're not – at least tell me if he's – '

' _Later_ , Harry,' said a tired voice. Lupin had come up behind Tonks to see what the holdup was; the rest of the Order members were peering over his shoulder curiously, looking at Draco and Potter and whispering to one another. 'Please.'

Potter opened his mouth, then seemed to think better of it and closed it, and leaned back against the wall to let the group pass through. Draco had to squeeze himself between  _Cassiopeia Black_  and her husband's snoring portraits to allow the people to pass, trying without success to catch useful bits of whispered conversation as they passed.

Potter glared coldly at the door to the basement kitchen as the group disappeared behind it, sealing the sounds of their steps and voices with it. He looked just as furious at being ignored and pushed aside as Draco had felt earlier.

Potter turned his glare around to Draco. 'What are you still here for? Think if you hang around long enough you'll pick up something useful to bribe your way back in with him?'

'Actually,' Draco snapped, folding his arms. 'All I  _want_  to know what the fuck is going on with Snape.'

'Well, like I said, I don't—'

'Give a damn what I want?' Draco finished for him. 'Yes, I remember. And the feeling is mutual, believe me. I  _do_  care, however, about anything that's happened to Snape. And I also know that you calling Dumbledore here immediately after waking up means that whatever it is isn't something to be taken lightly. So,' Potter blinked at him blankly as he paused for breath, 'I know you might not give a flying fuck what happens to him, Potter, but for once I'd really appreciate it if you remembered that the world does not revolve around only you and what  _you_  care about.'

Potter continued to stare at him for a very long time, looking angry and slightly confused. Draco expected him to shout, wake up all the portraits, possibly resort to physical abuse – as Potter and his gang were wont to do – or at the very least, threaten him at wandpoint.

Draco was slightly surprised when Potter just blinked again, looking even more confused and surprisingly hesitant; the confusion wasn't surprising, but the hesitation was. Potter never hesitated – Draco had learned that lesson the hard way several months before.

'It wasn't a nightmare,' Potter said finally, hands curling tighter around his elbows.

'What?' Draco said.

'It wasn't a nightmare,' Potter repeated firmly, explaining absolutely nothing. 'All that – whatever you saw – it wasn't a dream I had.'

'What the hell was it, then? A secret, nocturnal Gryffindor ritual to wake up screaming bloody murder?'

Potter looked at the floor between them, two feet of dusty threadbare between their feet, worn and faded and looking horribly neglected. He furrowed his brow. 'It was – I get these –  _visions_.'

Draco stared at him. It took all of his self-control not to burst out laughing simple by reflex at the utter absurdity of that statement.

'You get  _visions_ ,' he repeated dully, trying very hard to keep his voice passive. Draco cracked a nasty smirk. 'What are you now, The Chosen Seer? The Boy Who Saw?'

'Piss off,' Potter snapped angrily, looking up at him once more, eyes narrowed. 'Fuck, I don't even know why I'm bothering talking to you.'

'Oh come on,' Draco sneered, rolling his eyes. ' _Visions_ , Potter? Like god-delivered revelations, or a life-changing epiphany—'

'I'm not fucking joking, Malfoy. Do you want to know about Snape, or not?'

Draco stopped smirking.

'All right,' he said, playing along. 'You get "visions". Fine. The vaguest explanation you could have possibly supplied, but I'll buy it. Visions of  _what_?'

Potter clamped his mouth shut and looked at the floor again.

Draco tilted his head. ' _Well_?'

'You don't want to know.'

' _Try_  me.'

Potter looked up at him with steady eyes. 'I – sometimes – when he's really angry,' he tried, hesitating again before continuing, 'or really pleased about something – I see what  _he_  sees,' he finished finally, his voice quiet but thick. 'What he likes to  _show_  me.'

Draco didn't have to ask who 'he' was. The hard, guttural emphasis Potter placed on the word was more than enough. 'And what does he like to show you?'

'Usually?' Potter smiled, almost wryly. The expression was quiet disturbing when mixed with his answer: 'Pain.'

Draco was tempted to make another comment about Potter's lack of vocabulary and his spectacular talent at being vague, but the look in those green eyes stopped Draco short. Then the full picture hit him, combining what he'd witnessed in the bedroom, the information obtained from Potter's conversation with Dumbledore, and the increasingly vague answers afterwards.

It really hadn't been a nightmare, but a 'vision', of some sort. All right, Draco could buy that – Dumbledore had answered Potter's call with impressive haste, after all. And whatever the vision was about, Draco could be sure of one thing: it concerned Snape.

And it also involved pain.

Draco's throat tightened. Potter was watching him carefully, and seemed to notice Draco had put the information together.

There was a moment's pause as Draco deliberated his next question; Potter was normally unstable, easy to offend and quick to become defensive. How long he'd keep answering questions wasn't predictable, and Draco had to make each one count.

'Is he alive?' he asked evenly, holding Potter's gaze.

'I think so,' Potter said quickly, brow furrowing again. 'I mean, he was – when I – ' he faltered a bit lamely, and finished quietly, 'I hope so.'

Draco sneered automatically. 'Oh,  _do_  you now?'

'Fuck you,' Potter snapped, glaring.

Draco winced inwardly. Potter was even easier to offend when sleep-deprived and on-edge, apparently. 'Don't pretend like you give a damn.'

'I'm not,' Potter replied coolly. 'I hate that sonofabitch more than I hate you.'

'Then why'd you rush to alert Dumbledore?'

Potter raised his eyebrows. 'Because I know that the world doesn't revolve around only me and those _I_ care about, Malfoy.'

 _Crack_.

The front door swung inward again, revealing a tall, robe-clad silhouette. Potter was on his feet in an instant. 'Is he—'

But when the shadow stepped forward, the words died in Potter's mouth. It wasn't Dumbledore. It was, in fact, Professor McGonagall, looking graver than Draco had ever seen her.

'Potter,' she said shortly, by way of greeting. If she noticed Draco, she did not acknowledge it. She closed the door behind her, holding up a hand to silence Potter before he could begin. 'The Headmaster wishes for you to know that all of your questions will be answered as soon as he can make himself available, and in the meantime, he also asks that you refrain from harassing other members of the Order on the matter.'

Potter looked furious, but oddly resigned. ' _Is he alive?_ ' he ground out stubbornly.

McGonagall looked from Potter to Draco, who was watching her with the same horrified, desperate needon his face, and sighed deeply.

'For now,' she said quietly.

She swept past them both towards the basement, and by the time she'd closed the door behind her, Potter had sunk back down to the floor.

Draco felt, not for the first time, hopelessly helpless. It was a horrible feeling to have combined with the awful, foreboding knowledge that one of the only people he still cared anything at all about was lying somewhere,  _dying—_ that, somewhere, unbeknownst to him, Severus Snape was hanging in a delicate limbo he had absolutely no control over. He wanted to scream, in outrage, frustration, helplessness—he wanted to hit something, or someone, in hopes to transfer his pain  _somewhere_ other than inside of him, because he'd already lost his mother and he'd lost his father long before he was born, and he was slowly losing his grip on reality as it was and if he lost Snape—

'He'll be all right,' Potter said, his whisper like a fog horn in the empty silence of the hall. He wasn't looking at Draco, but the opposite wall of the rising stairwell, looking oddly lost. 'He's a bastard and I hate him, but he's a  _tough bastard_ and he's—he'll be  _all right_.'

It suddenly occurred to Draco how very uncharacteristic this behaviour was coming from Potter. For one, Potter  _never_ looked lost. Even when he was lost, Potter always had a plan, even if it was just a plan of reaction that he made up as he went, and it always worked out as if he'd had it down from the outset. Second, was that Potter was talking to  _him,_ even if indirectly, almost as if to reassure him. Potter never talked to him at all, if he could help it, and he certainly could have helped it right now, but he hadn't. And third, the worst, was that Potter almost seemed to hope Snape  _was_ all right—Snape, the same man who had tortured him relentlessly for the past six years of his life, who had humiliated and punished and put down for very little and sometimes no provocation at all.

Right now, Potter looked and sounded as lost and helpless as Draco felt, and it was really pissing Draco off.

'He'll be all right,' Potter said again. He sounded like he was talking mostly to himself now; his voice was as distant and empty as he stare, which was still focused on the wall of the stairwell.

Draco stepped over him, exerting enough self-control not to kick him in the head on the way, and ran back up the stairs.

_He'd better be._

: : :

Dumbledore did not arrive until sometime around six o'clock. Most of the house was still hanging in a fitful daze of sleep, but Draco was wide awake when he heard the muffled  _crack_ outside the front, the quiet creak of the front door's hinges. Rolling out of bed, he dressed quickly; Potter had not come back since Draco had left him alone in the hall. Draco had not bothered to see what had become of him. Pulling on the jeans Tonks had given him and a light set of robes from his trunk, Draco slipped out of the bedroom and managed silently down the stairs.

At the bottom, he heard quiet voices from the living room.

'—could have been much worse,' came Dumbledore's low voice through the entryway. 'I cannot thank you enough, Harry.'

'Don't,' Potter said quickly, just as quietly. 'But he'll be—you know, okay, eventually?'

'Eventually,' Dumbledore confirmed. 'And if I know Severus, much more quickly than most. He has made me a firm believer in the sentiment that bitterness makes one exceptionally resilient.'

Potter gave a short, empty laugh. 'Right. Um. You didn't—you know. Tell him. Did you?'

'I have not had the chance to tell him anything,' Dumbledore said quietly, though curiously. 'He hasn't been conscious since he was found.'

'Okay. Good. Look.' Draco moved backwards on the banister, so he could  _just_ see into the living room; Potter had his hands tangled in his hair, as if trying to slowly scalp himself. ' _Don't_ , all right? Tell him. That it was—me.'

Dumbledore, the barest hint of his profile visible, raised his eyebrows. 'I am sure he will be most curious when he awakens to find that he is most certainly not dead, and wish to know why, Harry.'

'Make something up.'

'Harry,' Dumbledore said, sternly, gently, all at once—Draco wondered where Dumbledore learned to talk like that, like he understood everything and knew that in the end, everything would work out all right. 'I know your relationship with Professor Snape is less than amiable, but I would hope that you were at least mature enough to acknowledge the man is not a simpleton. It would be an insult to the trust I've instilled in him to answer with anything less than the truth.'

Potter was silent. Dumbledore watched him for a moment, then continued, 'However, I understand your position, and the effects such information may have on an already delicate balance of tolerance. I will be vague,' he assured, putting a hand on Potter's shoulder, who looked up at him, 'but that is the best I can promise you.'

Potter hesitated, then nodded quickly, sagging under the Headmaster's hand. 'Thank you,' he said quietly. 'Are you going back?'

'Yes,' Dumbledore said, removing his hand and standing back, so he was out of sight from where Draco sat hiding in the shadow of the stair landing. 'Is there anything else you wish to ask me before I return?'

There was a moment of silence. Potter's brow was furrowed over his glasses; he turned so his back was to Draco. 'I'm worried,' he said, finally, quieter than before. Draco had to strain to hear him.

'Worried about what, Harry? Well,' Dumbledore added, 'besides the obvious.'

'Malfoy.'

There was a pause from Dumbledore, in which Draco also stopped breathing. Well  _that_ certainly hadn't been obvious.

'I think,' Potter continued. 'I think maybe you should take him with you.'

Dumbledore still didn't reply. Draco's lungs screamed and he sucked in a quick breath to alleviate the burning in his chest.

'To see Snape, I mean,' Potter continued, growing awkward in the silence. 'Especially after his mum, and all—he was really—last night—I think it'd do him good. To go.'

'I see,' said Dumbledore. 'You know, Harry, I actually think I agree with you. Perhaps if Mr Malfoy would continue down the rest of the stairs, I could ask his opinion on the matter.'

It took a moment for what he'd said to sink in; by then, Potter had wheeled around and spotted Draco skulking behind the thick banister. Scowling, Draco stood up and walked swiftly into the living room.

'Good morning,' Dumbledore said when Draco did not say anything. He was too busy looking haughty while Potter glowered at him. 'So, Draco, I assume you've heard enough of the conversation that you do not require a recap.'

Draco did not answer right away. He kept glaring at Potter, hoping he would leave. Potter stubbornly held his ground and, annoyed but too anxious to wait it out, Draco turned his attention to the Headmaster. 'I would like to go, sir,' he said, quietly—he did not, after all, want Weasleys waking and making a mess of his escape. 'If that's all right.'

'I cannot see why it would be anything but,' Dumbledore replied, eyes twinkling over his glasses. 'Harry, if you'd be so kind to pass the message along to the others; Mr Malfoy and I should only be a couple of hours, at most.'

Potter nodded and, after a hesitant glance at Draco (which Draco answered with a scowl), left the room.

Dumbledore stepped up to the fireplace, retrieving an old, ornately-carved wooden box from the mantle. He opened it and offered the contents to Draco: Floo powder.

'You know the drill, Mr Malfoy,' Dumbledore said, eyeing him over his spectacles.

It was both unnecessary and dangerous, Draco realised, what the Headmaster was doing: unnecessary, because they could just as easily use Side-Along Apparition or a Portkey to get to the hospital; dangerous, because this left Draco—and Draco alone—to decide his ultimate destination. He could go anywhere, provided it was connected to the Floo Network. There were dozens of places he could go that the Order, even Dumbledore, could not follow. Places that he could wait at until his father came to collect him, or places he could run from and hide on his own. This, Draco realised, was not so much a trip to see Snape, but a test—a test and a show of good faith.

Draco took a handful of the dust and stepped into the fireplace, facing Dumbledore; he wanted so very badly to prove him wrong. To see those understanding, proud eyes dull up with disappointment and failure.

But Draco wanted to see Snape more.

'St Mungo's Hospital,' he said clearly, and threw the dust down at his feet.

The last thing he saw before spiralling off into the green wreath of flames were two bright, twinkling blue orbs.

: : :


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

_'These feelings are like your mother's breasts;  
you know where they are, but they're best left untouched.'_  
\- Two and a Half Men

: : :

By the time Draco had dusted the excess Floo Powder off his person, a small, stalwart witch had opened the door to the arrival room. She was wearing the standard lime-green robes, had short, curly grey hair, and her name tag read: 'Amelia Bogstosh'. She hurried forward to greet Dumbledore, stepping out of the fireplace after Draco.

'Ah, good morning again, Amelia. Has there been any change?'

'It's hard to say,' Amelia informed him in a low voice. 'He's stable, but still unconscious. It's too soon to tell anything for certain.'

'I've heard worse news,' Dumbledore said, nodding. Draco trailed behind in silence as Dumbledore followed the woman out of the Floo room and into the main lobby. They stepped into the lift and instead of going up, the Healer withdrew her wand and prodded something on the console Draco couldn't quite see; the was a soft jerk and a loud click, and the lift started to descend.

The descent didn't last long. The doors opened a few moments later as the lift halted, admitting them to a brightly-lit, bare hallway with several doors along either side. Draco realised these must be the secure private wards—a place for patients who would be in danger out in the open, or worse, endanger the other patients around them. Amelia led them to the furthest door down on the left. Two formidable-looking wizards dressed in slate robes with gold badges pinned to their chests stood outside the door, and nodded to Dumbledore as he followed Amelia inside.

Draco followed him quickly, and found himself in a very white, sterile-looking room with a drawn curtain on one end. It smelled like bleach and vinegar and made him wrinkle his nose. He moved to follow Dumbledore over to the curtain just as Amelia made to hold him back.

'No, dear, I don't think you should—'

'It's all right, Amelia,' Dumbledore said, without turning around.

Amelia pursed her lips and looked very much like Madam Pomfrey; Draco didn't wait for her to think up an argument and moved around her, walking swiftly over to stand beside the Headmaster as he drew the curtain back.

It took a great deal of physical restraint not to recoil at the sight, and even more not to give into the impulse to vomit. Snape was as white as the sheets he was lain on, but dark red, blue, and purple veins strangled what little skin that was visible. It looked as if the top layer of flesh were transparent. Faint colours of yellow and putrid green bloomed under the markings, making it look like an enormous bruise had grown inside of him, slowly staining him from the inside out. It was worst around his neck and jugular, reaching up between his ear and jaw to claw at his face, and Draco could see the horrible markings tainting the wrist and hand that had slipped out from under the sheets.

His eyes were lightly closed and his chest fell and rose so slowly Draco had to concentrate to ascertain the man was breathing; a small, clear tube was hooked into the corner of his mouth and trailed into a small vial on the bedside table, full of a salmon-coloured liquid that Draco recognised as Blood-Replenishing Potion. A small tub of yellow paste sat open beside it, probably for the bruising.

Unable to keep looking, Draco closed his eyes and took a deep, unsteady breath. If it hadn't been for the fact that Snape was breathing, Draco would have assumed him already dead.

'He's looking much better than when we found him,' Dumbledore murmured quietly. Draco gave him an incredulous look; he couldn't  _imagine_ anyone alive looking much worse than this. 'Oh, yes, I daresay that had we found him ten minutes later, there wouldn't have been anything any Healer could have done for him. Perhaps now you understand why, despite your wishes, I could not allow you to remain with Professor Snape after the incident at Hogwarts.'

Draco did not say anything. Amelia came over to the other side of the bed, wand drawn, whispering medical spells under her breath to check the vitals. Draco watched her impassively beside the Headmaster, who was taking turns watching Snape and the blonde with quiet curiosity.

'I will let you know if anything changes,' Amelia told the Headmaster, breaking the near-silence. 'Are the gentlemen outside—'

'They will remain here, if that's all right,' Dumbledore confirmed, nodding. 'And I appreciate it, thank you. Mr Malfoy...'

The lines in Snape's face were more severe than Draco remembered. His hair, usually oily and unkempt, was still lank but clean and lying flat against the pillow, a shocking black ink stain against the white sheets. Draco felt the overwhelming need to sit down, and did, on the small stool at his bedside.

Dumbledore was quiet for a moment, approaching slowly from behind. 'Draco, there is nothing you can do for him. I will alert you as soon as I know anything—'

'I want to stay,' Draco said, eyes still on the unconscious form of his professor. 'I—please,' he said, looking up at Dumbledore, then Amelia. 'I won't be any trouble.'

It wasn't as if he was asking for much, or like he could go anywhere. There  _were_ two Aurors stationed outside the room, and they were deep inside the secure ward at St Mungo's, so it wasn't as if he was in any real danger while he was there. And considering what he had to go back to...

Dumbledore looked at Amelia, who looked troubled. 'I don't know,' he said, truthfully. 'Would it be inconvenient for you if he stayed?'

Draco gave the woman the best pleading-eyes he could. She pursed her lips firmly, but looked rather resigned. 'Not particularly. Though I don't advise it.'

Dumbledore looked back at Draco. 'Are you sure you wish to remain? Someone may not be available to fetch you should you decide to return prematurely.'

'I'm sure,' Draco said, his mind made up. 'I want to stay. Please.'

Draco had never said the word 'please' so much as he had over the past week. It felt and sounded like he was pulling needles through his cheeks every time he said it, but he had never meant it so much in his life. Dumbledore, thankfully, seemed to realise this, and nodded briefly.

'Very well. I will be in my office,' he told Amelia, 'should anything change. Thank you.'

Amelia showed him to the door and then returned, using her wand to conjure a proper chair for Draco to sit in before leaving. He waited until she'd left and closed the door before pulling the chair directly up to Snape's bedside, so close he could rest his elbows on it, and settled down. While a combination of worry and adrenaline had kept him wide-awake all night, a wave of exhaustion washed over him now, making him dizzy and slightly nauseous—the smell of vinegar in the room certainly did not help any.

He was fast asleep before he knew what hit him.

: : :

With every day that passed, the chances that Snape would ever wake up grew slimmer. Draco had heard one of the Healers speaking to another while he pretended to sleep, eyes barely open; the pitiful shake of their head, the empathetic tone of voice—it sickened and infuriated him. Like they gave a damn at  _all_.

'That poor boy,' Amelia said, shaking her head again. 'Been here since Tuesday; hasn't left the man's side. I don't know what to tell him.'

'Poor kid,' the other Healer had agreed, a younger, clean-shaven bloke with red hair. 'A relative?'

'No, I don't think so—they look like night and day, anyway. But the poor dear hasn't even eaten properly since he's arrived; we're going to have to send him home soon...'

Draco did not bother to point out he had no home to go to.

Four days, and all Draco had eaten was some bread, fruit, and water that the Healer brought in on regular intervals. He may have not had that much, had Amelia given him a moment's peace during mealtimes. Other than taking time to use the loo and a quick shower every second day, Draco didn't move from the bed side. An intravenous apparatus, something inspired by Muggle medicine Draco had never seen before, had been set up on the opposite side of the bed. It was a simple machine: a tall, thin pole that suspended a small, clear pouch high above the bed that was full of some sort of hydrating, nourishing solution. A thin tube ran from the bottom of the pouch down to the bed, where the end had been inserted via syringe into the skin of Snape's left hand.

Amelia had paused when uncovering his arm, her eyes lingering on the Dark Mark, and Draco had glared, daring her to say a word. She wasn't surprised—probably a confident of Dumbledore's and therefore informed—but she certainly did not approve, if the scowl on her face was any indication.

Draco watched the clear solution drip from the pouch into the tube, the slight rise and fall of Snape's chest beneath the white sheets. Scooting his chair closer, Draco folded his arms on the side of the bed and laid his head down to wait. And he would continue to wait, and sit here every day if he had to—as long as it took.

: : :

On the fifth day when Draco opened his eyes, it felt like no time at all had gone by. Had he fallen asleep? It was hard to tell, as the room was underground and there were no windows, but it hadn't  _felt_ like he had gotten any sleep—and if he'd been asleep, what had woken him up—

'It's about time, Mr Malfoy. I was beginning to wonder which one of us was supposed to be comatose.'

Draco jerked upright so quickly it left him feeling light-headed. His vision swam slightly as his eyes got over the sudden motion and the sleepiness, and, slowly, Snape came into focus.

He was sitting upright—someone had come by to prop the front of the bed up and stuff an extra pillow behind him, and the horrible bruising had faded considerably since Draco had first seen it. Only a very faint, yellow-purple tint remained, blooming out of the collar of his robes—the robes themselves were thin and grey, standard-issue patient robes directly from the hospital. Aside from the off-colour complexion, Snape looked very much like himself, and gave Draco a rather disdainful once-over.

Draco tried to speak, and regretted it instantly. His throat was parched and raw, and Snape rolled his eyes heavily, indicating the pitcher on the bedside table. 'Drink something before you become dehydrated, or it'll be you on this table.'

Draco did not argue; being in the man's House for six years and he'd learned better than to argue with  _that_ tone. He drained a glass quickly, clearing his throat carefully when he finished. 'How long have you been awake?' he asked, then winced; his voice sounded like he was dragging it over sandpaper.

Snape made to shrug, winced, and decided to express himself verbally instead. 'Not long. The Healer's come and gone, I expect the Headmaster will be arriving with someone to fetch you shortly.'

'But I—'

'Mr Malfoy, you've just spent the past five days in this room, and the last ten hours sleeping upright, according to the nurse,' Snape interrupted, raising his eyebrows as Draco winced. So  _that_ 's what the stiffness was from. 'You will be returning to Headquarters and eating a decent meal, and then proceed to have a solid night of rest in a proper bed.'

Draco gave him a look. 'With all due respect, Professor, my mother is  _dead_ , but thanks.'

Snape smirked unpleasantly. 'And with all due respect to  _her_ , that does not make my promises worth any less. You will do as you're told.'

Draco wanted to ask just what promises exactly these happened to be, but Snape interrupted him before he could begin. 'I do find it rather curious that the Headmaster managed to find me so quickly,' he said, looking sidelong at Draco. 'You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?'

Draco did not know where Snape had been found, but if he thought  _Draco_ had anything to do with it, he could wager a good guess. He almost let the word 'Potter' out of his mouth, and then remembered the conversation he eavesdropped on the morning he'd come here, and closed his mouth.

Snape raised an eyebrow. Draco sighed and dropped his head in his hands. 'I thought you'd never wake up,' he said thickly.

Snape made a derisive noise in his nose. 'It would take more than the likes of your father and his idiots to bring about  _my_  end.'

The door opened then, interrupting the conversation. Dumbledore came in, followed by Professor McGonagall and Lupin, all of whom looked immensely relieved.

Snape scowled. 'I don't suppose you've come to relieve me of this place,' he said sourly.

'Unfortunately, no,' Dumbledore said, smiling faintly. 'Not quite yet. Another day or two of bed rest, and then we shall see about moving you back to the infirmary at school, if it would suit you.'

'Better than here,' Scape muttered, glaring at the white, spotless walls as if they were put there as a personal insult to him. It must have been one hell of a change from the dark, dank room that served as his home in the dungeons.

'I am very glad to see you awake, Severus,' McGonagall said. 'You gave us quite a fright.'

'Pity,' Snape said, not rolling his eyes but looking as if he greatly desired to do so.

'Draco,' Dumbledore said, facing him. 'I believe your presence at Headquarters is well over-do. Remus will be taking you back with him.'

'But he just woke up!' Draco snapped, furious. 'I don't  _want_ to go back there.'

'Regretfully, what we want and what we must do are not always parallel,' Dumbledore continued, eyeing him over his spectacles. 'I believe St Mungo's has already been quite generous with accommodating your presence.'

'But I—'

'Draco.' Snape was giving him a frighteningly severe look. 'You will  _do as you're told_. Have I made myself clear?'

Seeing he was going to be overruled one way or another, Draco clamped his mouth shut and stood up. Lupin smiled at him and held out an arm. 'Come, Draco—Molly's been worried sick about you.'

 _Why_? he wanted to ask. Why the hell would she give a damn about him? He wasn't  _her_ son. Didn't she have enough of those to worry about?

But he didn't. He took one last look at Snape, who continued to force his silence with that look alone, and followed Lupin out of the room.

: : :

A large amount of muffled noise was coming from the den. There was a lot of laughing, loud voices, and someone was singing along with the  _Weird Sister_ 's record playing in the background. Draco crushed the urge to storm into the room and set the Victrola on fire. How could anyone laugh, at a time like this? Snape may not have been the world's most popular person, but he was still a  _person_ , lying on his deathbed the past week, and he had done more for these people than any of them would ever properly acknowledge.

Draco tried to go straight up the stairs but Lupin headed him off. 'You need to get back on a proper schedule,' Lupin said, shaking his head. 'It's still a bit too early for an early night, I'm afraid. Besides, Tonks wants to see you.'

Grimacing, Draco allowed himself to be marched into the living room. Weasley, the twins, Ginny, and Potter all sat in a circle on the floor, the cards spread between them and many scorch marks upon the floor. Granger was sitting cross-legged in a large armchair with a very large cat and book set in her lap, blocking all of her face and most of her hair from view. Tonks was stretched across the sofa on her stomach, whispering something into one of the twins' ears—Ginny leaned sideways and whispered something to Potter, who smirked and threw down a card.

'Snap!' called the other twin, throwing his hand down as well. The was a loud  _snap_ and a small cloud of smoke. 'Read 'm and weep.'

'Bastard,' Weasley muttered, throwing his hand into the pile.

'I think I'll fold,' the other twin said, turning away from Tonks and tucking his card away, face-down.

Ginny glanced at Potter, shared a smirk, and dropped her triple spades on top. 'A _hem_.'

'You dirty cheat, you've been swapping cards!' Weasley snapped indignantly, thrusting a finger of accusation at Potter.

Potter grinned a bit sheepishly and Ginny leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. 'I'd like to see you  _prove_ it.'

'Draco!' No longer distracted by the twin, Tonks had looked up and saw Draco standing in the doorway. Lupin had already gone past and taken a seat in the settee opposite her. 'Hell, it's about time they brought you back. How is he?'

The talking around the cards ceased, and Draco found himself the centre of attention. Normally, this was something he worked to achieve. Now, he just wanted to be invisible. He shrugged and leaned against the door frame. 'He's awake.'

'Really?' Granger had put down her book, resting the spine on top of the fat, orange tabby in her lap. 'When Dumbledore was here he looked really worried—he said they couldn't say for sure either way—'

'Will he be all right?' Potter interrupted.

Draco, grateful for an excuse not to speak to Granger directly, gave a non-committal nod-shrug gesture. 'Guess so.'

'Well, that's a relief,' Tonks said, sagging back onto the couch. 'Really can't afford to lose him.'

'Why? He's no good as a spy any more, now that Malfoy here went and blew his cover,' said one of the twins, and Tonks said, 'Fred!' rather sharply.

'Honestly,' Granger said, looking disgusted. 'Spy or not he's still a professor, imagine the trouble Dumbledore would have finding another  _Defence Against the Dark Arts_  teacher—'

'Not to mention, you know, the tiny detail that he's a fucking human being and all,' Draco snapped, glaring at them all. Fred blinked at him.

'That's enough,' Lupin intervened before a fight could get going. He looked rather weary. 'We're  _all_ glad to hear Severus will make a full recovery.'

'Who's hungry?' Tonks suggested brightly, rolling off the couch and knocking over the freshly-shuffled deck of cards. She hopped over the circle of Gryffindors on the floor and grinned at Draco. 'You look  _starved_. Molly said if we didn't feed you at least two helpings of dinner she wouldn't cook for a week, and that means  _I'd_ have to cook, and you don'twant that, trust me.' She winked. 'I'd burn the place down.'

Draco allowed himself to be led away from the glares in the den to the basement, where the smell of food still lingered even thought it was well past tea-time. Tonks started spooning stew out of a large pot still simmering on the stove into two bowls, and slipped into the seat opposite Draco and passed him one. Draco accepted it without argument, eating on auto-pilot and avoiding her eyes. Tonks gave up on watching him and looked down at her bowl instead, prodding it more than she was eating it.

Draco paused to swallow, then asked quietly, 'What happened to him?'

'I couldn't tell you for sure.' Tonks was still looking at her food, pushing it around with her spoon. 'I arrived with Remus, we didn't get there quick enough—we were both on duty elsewhere, and by the time we got there—'

'The Manor?' Draco supplied.

Tonks pinched her lips. 'How'd you know?'

'Lucky guess,' Draco said dryly.

'Well, anyway, Dumbledore had gotten there first, of course—scared off most of the Death Eaters, too, from what I've heard. A few of them stuck around to fight, but didn't stand a chance once Moody, Kingsley and the others showed up. Dumbledore's practically five Aurors on his own.' She finally took a mouthful, chewing too quickly and swallowing thickly. 'It was a mess, that's what I  _can_ tell you.'

'My father was there,' Draco said, stabbing at a potato with his spoon. 'Snape said so.'

'Did he?' Tonks shrugged and quickly devoured another mouthful of stew. 'Well, then, Snape has to be a tougher bastard than I gave him credit for, because from what Dumbledore told us, our aunty Bellatrix was there, too.'

There was a loud crash from upstairs, and then the muffled sound of the portrait of Mrs Black screaming at the top of her lungs. And then someone else upstairs screamed, someone who was definitely  _not_ the portrait, and someone that sounded a lot like Lupin started shouting—Tonks was on her feet in an instant, knocking over her chair and spilling most of their stew in the process.

Draco was right after her, but she turned at the door of the stairs, rounding on him. ' _Stay here!_ '

'But—'

She slammed the door behind her, leaving him in the kitchen. Draco's temper flared, then subsided slightly when he thought about it; if it was trouble, it was probably in his best interests to keep his head low, just in case it was trouble looking for  _him_. The screaming, aside from the portrait, had stopped, but people were still talking loudly, and now Potter was shouting, and there were loud, thunderous footsteps running down to the kitchen—Draco hurried to the far end of the room and flattened himself against the bench just as the door burst open and half a dozen people came spilling through it, covered in what looked like blood.

'Shit, shit, shit!' Tonks, wand in-between her teeth, had her arm under the shoulder of the tall, limp body of al boy with his head hung and so bloody it was impossible to distinguish anything else about him. Potter was on the other side, using his hands to hold the boy's chest up and was smeared with blood and dirt from the body. Hermione was behind them all, blood-streaked and crying, Weasley holding her away from the mess. Lupin, bringing up the rear, went straight to the kitchen fireplace and threw a handful of Floo Powder into it.

Draco watched in horrified awe as Tonks and Potter counted quickly to three, then hoisted the limp body onto the table—the bloody boy gave a cry that made everyone in the room cringe. Ginny came thundering down the stairs just in time to get the full blast of it—Draco could see there were tears in her eyes, too, but unlike Granger, she ran right up to the table and said, over the boy's cries, 'What can I do?'

'Get this blood off him,' Tonks said, running a hand through her hair and leaving bright red streaks where her fingers touched. 'God, get rid of it, as much as you can, I can't stop the bleeding if I can't see where it's coming from!'

Ginny started working immediately, but Potter hesitated. 'I can't—I'm terrible with medi-spells,' he explained. 'I don't want to make it worse.'

Draco said, 'I can help,' and then bit down on his tongue.

Everybody looked at him.

Oddly enough, it was Ginny that broke the silence. 'Then  _help_!'

Draco stared and, shaking it off, drew his wand and started uttering spells under his breath. Simple cleaning spells would do, but were dangerous if you used them on open wounds—luckily, he'd had enough accidents as a child that his mother had taught him the basics before he'd gone off to Hogwarts. Four years of Quidditch practice and he'd become more than fluent with all of them. Ginny was working on the boy's torso, and Tonks had started at a particularly nasty spot on his leg. Draco was left to clean the upper arms, neck and face.

'Harry,' Tonks said, without looking up. 'And Hermione.' Hermione quieted at her name, sniffing loudly behind them. 'Upstairs, in the cupboard under the stairs—Snape keeps a spare potion kit there, I need you to bring it down. Remus—'

'He's on his way,' Lupin said, coming over as the trio ran up the stairs. 'He's bringing Poppy with him.'

Tonks nodded, wiping the back of her forehead with her hand, smearing the blood there. As her wand trained over the ragged part of his thigh, the boy cried out, jerking upwards; Lupin placed a firm hand on his diaphram and pushed, holding him down. 'He needs blood, and fast. There's internal bleeding, too, I can't tell from where, but if we can hold him until Poppy's here, he should be okay.'

Draco wasn't so sure. Cleaning the boy's face was trickier than it looked, especially since he kept jerking this way and that. Draco had had a wound that nearly killed him before, and he had learned the hard way that trying to move while you were bleeding profusely only made you lose the blood at a much more alarming rate.

'Stop  _moving_ ,' Draco hissed desperately, bending low to get a better look. 'I know it fucking hurts but you're only making it worse.'

Potter, Weasley and Granger came thundering back down the stairs just as the bloodied boy stopped moving and rasped, ' _Malfoy_?'

Draco dropped his wand.

: : :


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

_'There aren't any "versions" of the truth.'_  
\- The Lost World

: : :

Granger dropped the potion kit on one of the chairs by the table and charmed it open, quickly taking out bottles as Tonks listed them off. She was still helping Ginny clean off most of the fresh blood, Lupin's firm hand still in place.

Draco stood there, frozen. He did not need to clean the boy's face to know that voice. He had shared a dorm with that voice for  _six years_.

'Malfoy?'

Draco looked up; Potter was staring at him, his gaze wordlessly demanding an explanation. But then Tonks pulled a torn piece of blood-soaked trouser away, and the boy snapped his eyes shut, biting down on his lip; a horrible, strangled noise crawled out of his throat anyway, and Lupin's arm shuddered with the force of the squirming but did not budge.

Draco had backed away from the table, hands over his ears and wand long forgotten on the floor. New blood was gushing from the wound on the thigh Tonks had uncovered—she was shouting, Ginny was crying and trying to clean the blood, Granger was spilling potions ingredients everywhere, Weasley had his hands wound into his hair and was staring at the scene in shock—

Draco's back hit the bench and the sharp pang in his lower back felt like it was coming from miles away, and there was so much blood everywhere that his vision looked red, and ironically enough, the only coherent thought that passed through his head was that he'd never be able to eat in that kitchen again.

: : :

Draco looked at the clock on the wall. 1:37. The sky outside the window was a deep, dark midnight-blue. The moon wasn't visible yet from this side of the house, but stars twinkled down from on high and Draco rested his forehead against the cool glass, letting it soothe the massive migraine blooming there. His ears were still ringing from hours ago, when the house had been one giant factory of horrible noise. The quiet now was almost unsettling.

By the light of several candles, he could see the reflection in the window. Theodore was still asleep on Granger's bed, twitching fitfully so that he kept throwing the sheets off onto the floor. Lupin kept retrieving and replacing them anyway. They had managed to stop the bleeding and once Madam Pomfrey had arrived, and then she had sedated Theodore and patched him up as best as she could. Now all they could do was wait.

'I don't understand,' Draco said, still staring out the window. Apparently he had lost track of the lunar cycle during his week at St Mungo's. 'How can it be a full moon?  _You're_  a werewolf.'

'A fact I'm all too well-aware of,' Lupin said, sitting back down on the end of the bed. 'Are you familiar with the Wolfsbane potion?'

Draco shrugged, eyes still out the window. He was watching for the moon—once it rolled over to this part of the sky, Theodore would have to be moved. 'It's supposed to be really complicated.'

'It is.' Lupin sighed somewhere behind him. 'Which is why unless Professor Snape is able to prepare it, I am forced to deal without it. Very few alchemists can brew it properly.'

Draco didn't reply. He didn't see how any of this answered his question—he would have not even been in the same room as Lupin on the night of a full moon if he could help it, but if he was going to transform, it would have started hours ago.

'After the full moon fades,' Lupin continued in the silence, 'after we transform back, I mean—there's something off about the blood. They've only discovered it just recently, which is why the Wolfsbane potion came about. The mix of wolf and human fluids, or something—the Wolfsbane imitates the mix of hormones, sort of like Muggle birth-control—'

Draco looked back at him. 'Muggle  _what_?'

Lupin sighed. 'Never mind. It's hard to explain. Basically, if taken regularly, the potion tricks my body into always thinking I've just had a full moon by keeping a constant supply of the chemicals in my bloodstream.'

'So you don't even have to transform?'

'Oh, I will,' Lupin assured him. 'Rather hard to fool the moon, even with magic. Not quite yet, though, it's still waning—full enough for an un-drugged werewolf running amok outside to transform, but under the influence of the potion I can resist until the full blast of it.' He smirked, the low light casting odd patterns along his face. He looked very old. 'And when I do transform, I'm conscious of myself, unlike most werewolves. Not nearly as dangerous.'

Draco was willing to bet any sort of werewolf was just as dangerous as the next, but asked instead, 'So will he change?'

'He might, since he was bitten early this phase,' Lupin said in a quiet voice. 'We'll have to keep an eye on him. Either way, he'll be in a lot of pain whenever the moon's out. Probably best to keep him sedated.'

'Can't we just give him the potion?'

'Eventually, perhaps after this moon passes,' Lupin said, looking back down at Theodore. 'I don't think it's ever been tested on a fresh werewolf, and the first transformation is the worst. His body will be forced into an unnatural, unwilling modification. That much alone is dangerous, but meddling with it could kill him.'

There was a quiet knock at the door. A moment later Ginny stuck her head in the door, her hair wet from a recent bath. 'Tonks says it's just coming over the house now, we should move him upstairs.'

Lupin nodded and Draco stood up, coming over to the bedside. Clean of the blood, Theodore looked deathly pale against the dark sheets. Lupin began to shift him out from under the duvet, and his eyes fluttered open. He tried to sit up and winced.

'Fuck,' he hissed, his hands clawing at the duvet near his hip.

'Easy,' Lupin ordered. 'No quick movements. You'll heal fast, but not if you keep re-opening the wounds.'

A brief look of horrified realisation flickered over Theodore's face, but it passed quickly; with Lupin helping he struggled into a sitting position, then Draco joined his other side to hoist him to his feet. His weight rested on his uninjured leg and he leaned heavily into Draco. Ginny held open the door and they acted like human crutches, carrying him out and to the bottom of the stairs.

They went up one step, and Theodore made an off-key, high-pitched noise and nearly toppled forward. Draco caught his chest with a hand and Lupin, similarly, on his opposite shoulder. They paused a moment to let Theodore recover; his shoulders shook a little and he leaned his head against Draco's neck.

'You remember that time,' he whispered, 'when we were teasing Millicent about her spots, and she let a Doxy loose in the dorms and it bit us all in our sleep?'

Draco winced inwardly at the memory. 'Yeah.' They had stopped teasing her after that.

'Okay, well,' Theodore paused to hiss, 'this is like that time, only it's like there was thirty Doxies instead of one.'

Draco smiled in spite of himself. 'Well, at least there's no swelling.'

'Point,' Theodore ground out. 'All right, it's not going to hurt any less if we just stand here. I want to get it over with.'

Draco looked past Theodore to Lupin, who nodded. Theodore set his jaw and they heaved, taking two stairs at a time. It was awkward and undoubtedly painful, but Theodore kept his mouth clamped shut and aside from the occasional hiss and groan, struggled up the small flight of stairs without complaint. He swayed slightly when they reached the top.

'Where's Adelle?' he asked, recovering, as they limped towards the room Draco and Potter had been sharing; it faced the opposite side of the house, which the moon had already passed over. The door stood ajar, waiting for them.

'She's downstairs,' Lupin assured him, kicking the door the rest of the way open.

Theodore didn't speak for a moment while they lowered him into the bed Draco had been using—he had his eyes clenched shut and his jaw twitched as he shifted from vertical to horizontal—then, 'I want to see her.'

'Later,' Draco said. 'She's asleep on the couch.' He did not add that the reason was because she had wept herself into exhaustion some hours before.

'Fuck later,' Theodore snapped. 'Then  _wake_ her.'

'It's all right,' Lupin said quickly. 'I'll get her.'

When Lupin closed the door, Draco found himself alone with Theodore for the first time that night. He waited until he heard Lupin begin to descend the stairs, then asked, his voice low, 'Christ, Theo, what  _happened_?'

Theodore, propped up against the wall on the bed, closed his eyes and shook his head. 'It's all blurry,' he said. 'These fucking potions they've got me on—I can't even think straight, but I can still  _feel everything_  so I don't see the point.'

He was quiet a moment, staring at an indistinct spot on the far wall. 'We were just having dinner. Father wasn't home. Hasn't been for  _weeks_ , not since you'd run off from school with Potter. I mean, hell, we  _knew_ what he was doing, and mum wouldn't have us talking about it.' He paused and shook his head again, a creepy, half-smile forming on his lips. He looked directly at Draco. 'You never thought about it, did you? What they were doing, what it might mean if they screwed up. Well, I suppose you  _had_ to last year, but none of us ever did. Not even after you—'

Theodore paused, and Draco did not have to ask what he meant. Theodore was reading his mind about this time the previous year, when the Dark Lord had first approached him while his father was in prison. He knew  _exactly_ what it was like.

'Didn't even get time to eat anything,' Theodore continued when Draco said nothing. He was looking out the window again. 'We—Mum went to answer the door.' He paused again, and Draco averted his eyes. He knew what  _that_ was like, too. 'I told her to let me get it, but she wouldn't have it. We heard the door open, but she didn't come back. So Eloise went to see who it was, and then we heard her scream.' There was another pause. 'I never even made it to the door to see what happened. They came rushing straight into the dining room—there were two of the damn things—it was all I could do to get Adeline into the closet before they—'

The door opened, revealing Lupin and a dark-haired, minuscule girl of about four or five. She took one look around the room, spotted Theodore, and bolted for him. She jumped up on the bed and threw her tiny arms around his neck. 'Teddy!'

Theodore winced at the force of her impact, but smiled. 'Hey, dolly.'

It was apparently the wrong endearment to use, because girl sniffed loudly, her head still buried in his neck. 'I lost Marie!'

'We'll get you another,' he promised, hugging her back with one arm.

'But it won't be Marie!' the girl cried quietly. 'I don't like this house! It's dark and there are strangers and nobody will tell me where Mummy and Elly are—'

Theodore closed his eyes, and Draco did not envy him. Draco looked at Lupin, who nodded, and Draco silently excused himself from the room, backing out and closing the door behind him.

The living room was mostly deserted. Potter was sitting cross-legged on the sofa, Ginny sitting behind him on the veneer, her legs dangling on either side of him and her arms around his shoulders. Tonks was sitting upright in the armchair by the fireplace, hands on her knees and looking uncharacteristically exhausted.

Only Ginny looked up when he entered, taking a seat on the mini-settee. 'Malfoy,' she said.

He glared at her but didn't answer.

'Did he tell you what happened?'

Draco shrugged. 'What's it to you?'

She ignored his attitude and fired off another question. 'Do you know who Elly is? That little girl kept asking for her and her mum, and I didn't know what to tell her.'

Draco didn't say anything for a moment. He became aware that both Potter and Tonks were watching him expectantly as well. He sighed. 'That girl is his little sister,' he said. 'Eloise was the eldest—about your age,' he said, looking at Tonks. He looked back at Ginny and curled his lip. 'And what do you  _think_ happened to them?'

'Well, nobody knows,' Ginny said, matter-of-factly. 'The Order members that brought them here said they were the only ones at the house—there was a lot of blood, but no bodies.'

'We can worry about it in the morning,' Tonks said suddenly, standing. 'And by "we" I mean the Order. You kids should get some sleep. Ginny, come on.'

Ginny sighed and leaned down; Potter shifted to the side and looked up, and kissed her quickly, whispering a 'Goodnight'. As Ginny joined her, Tonks looked back at them and said, 'Will you two be all right down here?'

Draco and Potter looked at each other and said, clipped and together, 'Yeah.'

Tonks raised her eyebrows but took her leave. It just had occurred to Draco when she said that that Theodore and Lupin were in their room, which left them with nowhere to sleep.

'I want the couch,' Draco said, eyeing the armchair and the too-small settee.

Potter narrowed his eyes. 'It's  _my_ house.'

'Exactly,' Draco said, smirking. 'It  _is_ your house, which makes  _you_ the host, which means out of the two of us,  _you_ get to be the most uncomfortable.'

'God, you're a tool.'

'Your Muggle insults notwithstanding,' Draco said, standing, 'I believe you're overdue on the floor, Potter.'

'Fine,' Potter said, standing. 'But if you get the couch, I get the spare pillows.' After a moment, he added, 'And the duvet. You can have the sheets.'

'Why do you get both pillows?  _And_ the duvet?'

'So I can muffle the screams when I  _strangle you in your sleep_ ,' Potter growled, pushing past him and disappearing into the hallway.

He came back a moment later with the spare linens piled in his arms, dumped them on the couch and began sorting them. He threw the sheets at Draco and dropped his pillows on the floor by the settee, as far away as he could get from the couch without leaving the rug on top of the hardwood floor. Draco pulled off his outer robes while Potter arranged the duvet, then walked over to the fireplace and gave it a kick. It popped open, gave a little spurt, and quietly crackled to life—a small fire, enough to warm without casting too much light. He turned around to see Potter staring at him.

'What?' he said. 'Do you mind?'

'Doesn't matter if I do, does it? Since I'm the "host".'

'See,' Draco said, flopping back onto the couch and smirking down at him. 'You're learning already. And Snape says you're slow.'

'Fuck Snape, and fuck you.' Potter collapsed on his duvet. 'I don't see why I'm the "host" if it listens to you and not me.'

'Got your mum to thank for that, I'm afraid.'

'Then how come it doesn't listen to the Weasleys? They're pureblood.'

'Pureblood  _traitors_ ,' Draco pointed out. 'At least as far as your house is concerned. Which is funny, considering the inhabitants of the house were either, a, blood-traitors themselves like your darling godfather, or, b, supporting the motives of a power-crazed half-blood. Rather ironic, really.'

'Yeah, it is. Kind of like how it's ironic that we're now up to two pureblooded blokes hiding out here who've lost their mums to the same power-crazed half-blood.'

'Well if you want to get  _technical_ , only one of those blokes got himself torn a new one by a werewolf.' Draco paused, considering. 'How did they find Theo before they killed them anyway?'

Potter hesitated, then seemed to figure there was no harm in divulging information. 'I don't know specifics, but I know the Order keeps tags on all the Death Eater homes. Just in case they come home.'

Draco raised his eyebrows. 'Or screw up.'

'Or that,' Potter agreed, frowning.

Draco frowned, too. He didn't like how the conversation had consisted entirely of the usual petty insults and sneers, then veered into something more mutual and serious.

'Right,' Draco said, rolling over and drawing the sheets up. 'I'm going to sleep.'

It was nice and quiet for a blessed whole two minutes. Then Potter said, 'Hey, Malfoy.'

Draco groaned and stuffed his head into the corner of the couch cushions. 'What part of "I'm going to sleep" was unclear?'

'Is he a friend of yours?'

Draco had to pause before rolling over, giving Potter an incredulous look. 'What the hell do you mean, is he a friend of mine? We shared a dormitory for six years.'

'Doesn't mean anything,' Potter said, shrugging from his spot on the floor. 'You never hung out with him much, at least from what we could see. It was always Crabbe and Goyle.'

'Okay, this may be a foreign concept to you, but,' Draco said, giving him a pointed look, 'most Slytherins considered  _all_ of their room-mates friends, Potter.'

'Well, all of mine were my friends, too.'

'Even Thomas and Finnigan?'

'Yes!'

'Interesting, considering you never hung out with them much, at least from what we could see.' Draco smirked. 'Funny, what you don't know when you don't notice anything except what  _you_  care about.'

Potter scowled but didn't say anything. Draco, annoyed, continued, 'Anyway, why do you care if he's my friend or not?'

Shrugging, Potter laid down and rolled over. 'You seemed real bothered once you realised who it was. And he kept asking for you,' he added, 'when you went to wash the blood off. He didn't seem to like us around.'

'Can you blame him?' Draco asked the back of his head. 'Hell, I don't like any of you around, either.'

'Well of course  _you_ don't. You're a prick and we hate you. But we never did anything to him or Zabini in school—'

'Except bad-mouth Slytherin every chance you got,' Draco interrupted. 'I know you may find this a little hard to believe, Potter, but there are some very decent people in Slytherin—and I can promise you that  _all of them_  despise you to one degree or another, whether you knew them or not.'

'You act like you never bad-mouthed Gryffindor,' Potter returned, rolling back to glare at him. His eyes appeared as dark, yellowed amber when reflecting the flames from the fireplace. 'There's plenty of decent people in my House that despise you and  _your_ lot, too.'

'The difference there,' Draco said, smirking one last time before waving his hand—the flames extinguished with a snap, leaving them in the darkness, 'is that  _I_ don't care.'

Potter didn't say anything after that and Draco, relieved, rolled back over and went to sleep.

: : :


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

_'Oh, huzzah, look—it's the lesser of two evils._ '  
\- Family Guy

: : :

When Draco awoke the next morning, Potter was gone. Draco yawned and, content in having the living room to himself, did not get up immediately. Stretching out and letting his mind slowly rise out of its morning drowsiness, he heard hushed voices in the hall, but did not think much of them. But the voices grew more acute, the urgency of the argument growing as the voices moved closer to the living room. Draco closed his eyes again and rolled over to face the back of the couch. The voices, apparently under the misinformed opinion that he was still fast asleep, wandered into the living room where he could hear them clearly.

'—immediately.' The voice, Draco recognised, was that of the Weasley mother. 'After breakfast, as soon as they're packed.'

There was a pause, then Lupin's voice. 'I understand your concerns, Molly, but I really don't think it's necessary. He's no more dangerous than I—'

'You are an adult and have dealt with this—this  _issue_ since you were very young, much younger than him,' Mrs Weasley insisted. 'Not only is he a stranger but he is also a  _teenager_ , Remus, and I've dealt with enough of those to know he's unstable as it is just being a boy. Wasn't it harder for you, at that age? To control yourself?'

Lupin was quiet again, and Mrs Weasley continued. 'Thought so. And you were as mild as boys come, I can tell you that much. I don't know this boy or what he's like, and I'm sure he's no devil and I know it's not his fault, but I won't have my children anywhere near him.'

'He has nowhere else to go, Molly,' Lupin pointed out. 'And it would help a lot if he had someone around who understood what he was going through.'

'I know,' Mrs Weasley said, calming. 'Which is why he can stay. But my children will be home before nightfall.'

There were quick footsteps, fading from the room; a small pause, then a quiet sigh—Lupin, sounding resigned, his slower footsteps following her path. Draco narrowed his eyes, angry and irate and flooded with relief all the same. So, the Weasleys were leaving. Probably Potter as well, then. He wondered if they'd make him leave, too.

Well, they could try, he thought, but he wasn't going anywhere.

: : :

Breakfast was a rather dismal affair. Nobody said anything except Tonks, who had valiantly kept trying to make small talk and failing spectacularly. She finally gave up, a begrudged look on her face, and began stabbing her eggs with unnecessary ferocity. Draco ate quietly, wedged safely between her and Adeline, the latter of which had clung to Draco like she'd been Spellotaped to his side since morning and shooting terrified, furtive looks at everyone else. She refused to speak at all and had actually started crying when Mrs Weasley tried to speak to her directly, but at least she was eating—so much, in fact, that she had gone through two helpings and was now nicking bacon off Draco's plate when she thought he wasn't looking.

Theodore was still upstairs, handicapped by his wound, or so Mrs Weasley had informed the table at large. By the way Lupin glanced at her and from his comment last night, Draco was willing to bet that Theodore was not only fully healed but probably hungry as hell and more than able to come downstairs to eat. They would bring him his breakfast afterwards, Lupin'd promised, however, and no one had said anything at all and ate what they were given without questions. It was more like the dinners Draco was used to at home, and, oddly enough, he found himself missing the noise.

Long after the clinking of silverware had faded, there was a simultaneous scraping of chairs as the Weasleys, Potter, Granger, and Tonks all stood to sort their dishes and slowly filter upstairs. Only Lupin remained at the table with them, not eating, just quietly sipping his tea. It wasn't until the last of the horde had vanished up the stairs that something tugged at the side of Draco's shirt—it was another one of Tonks', this one with some odd Muggle emblem Draco didn't know or understand. He looked down and saw Adeline with one hand hooked onto his shirt near his ribs, pulling insistently.

When she saw he'd noticed her, she whispered, 'I wanna see Teddy.'

Draco looked up and saw Lupin watching him; he nodded and Draco stood up quietly and plucked Adeline from her seat. She sat sideways on his hip with her arms firmly lodged around his shoulder. Draco looked at the table to see Lupin had gathered a plate full of breakfast for Theodore—bacon, sausages, smoked ham, and eggs. No potatoes, no fruit, no toast, nothing else—just the meat.

'Uh,' Draco said. 'You do know that Theo's a vegetarian, right?'

Lupin looked up at him, surprised and a little sad. 'Not anymore.'

: : :

Theodore wrinkled his nose.

'You're going to have to get used to it, I'm afraid,' Lupin said, looking apologetic. 'You can eat other things, of course, but the nights leading up to a full moon—the stomach of a wolf won't agree with anything else, you'll just be causing yourself more misery.'

Theodore said nothing, ignoring the plate of food and glaring out the window. It was overcast and foggy, a small drizzle sprinkling the window with mist, and Adeline sat in her brother's lap sucking on her thumb and holding her new doll in a one-handed hug. It was some ancient, lavishly dressed French bisque Mrs Weasley had dug out of a trunk in the attic and brightened up with a few cleaning spells.

'You'll need the extra protein anyway, to support the monthly upset in your body,' Lupin continued, 'And since that wound has healed already, you'll be in effect tonight.'

Theodore closed his eyes and let one side of his head rest against the wall beside his bed. 'Tonight.'

'All the Weasleys are leaving,' Draco pointed out, hoping this would be at least somewhat consoling. 'Hopefully Potter, too.'

Theodore glanced at him sideways. 'Malfoy, can you do me a favour?' Draco shrugged. 'Take Adelle downstairs. I need to—I'll only be a minute,' he said, his eyes darting to Lupin. 'Go on, dolly.'

Adeline gave her brother a very reproachful look, but obeyed. Draco picked her up again and she clung to his side, making him cringe; he was not really a fan of being man-handled, even by very small children. Out in the hall as he carried the girl towards the stairs, they passed the room on the other side. The door was ajar, and there were raised, agitated voices coming from inside. Draco held a finger to his lips and Adeline nodded, and he stopped just short of the doorway to listen.

'I don't give a damn what mum says,' Weasley snapped. 'If you're staying, so am I.'

'I'm not staying because I  _want_ to,' Potter returned, defensively. 'I  _have_ to stay. I told you, Dumbledore reckons it's too dangerous for me to be anywhere else I don't need to be.'

'Oh, like it's safe  _here_ with the werewolves!' Weasley snapped back.

Potter sighed heavily, and Draco thought he understood why; Potter had meant it was too dangerous for him to be anywhere  _else_ because he would bring the danger  _with_ him—not because he thought he himself would end up dead, werewolves or no werewolves.

Potter, however, didn't point this out. 'Look, Tonks and Hermione are going, too. It's just for a couple of days, Ron. It's not like I won't be here when you get back.'

'So it's just you and two werewolves?'

'Well—no.' Potter paused. 'I think Malfoy and the girl are staying, too.'

'Oh, well, that's  _much_ better then, wouldn't want to leave you alone with a couple of blood-thirsty animals and someone we didn't trust,' Weasley sneered.

'Malfoy couldn't cause any trouble even if he wanted to,' Potter snapped.

'I don't even know why you're letting him  _stay_ here, Harry.'

'He has nowhere else to go!'

'So  _what_?' Weasley snapped. 'Do you think he'd give two shits if it were you? No!'

'That doesn't mean we shouldn't do it.'

'You'll let that sonofabitch stay here with you, but you expect me to go? We said we'd stick with you, Harry, and we fucking meant it— _both_  of us!'

Draco bit down on his tongue to keep himself from charging in the room and giving them  _both_ what-for, and instead continued downstairs to the living room, where Tonks, Mrs Weasley, Charlie, Ginny and Granger were already waiting, a pile of trunks at their feet. Draco stuck to the far edge of the room and circled towards the fireplace, where he put Adeline down on the floor before giving the grate a kick.

'Oh, thank you, dear,' Mrs Weasley said to him, turning around and startling him. 'Is Lupin still upstairs?'

Draco nodded but said nothing, sitting cross-legged on the floor beside Adeline and leaning his back against the wall beside the mantle. Tonks tapped her fingers against her thighs, her nails clicking against the dragon-hide leather of her trousers. 'Fred and George are taking  _ages_ ,' she complained. 'I swear they have an entire trunk just for their joke junk.'

' _Junk_ , did you say?' chimed one of the twins, swinging into the room with an overflowing trunk. 'George, do you think she could be referring to the fruits of our genius?'

'Masterminds are always unappreciated in their time,' George declared solemnly, swinging in after his twin, two smaller trunks leaking ties and the ends of robes in both hands.

There were the sounds of more footsteps behind them, still thudding quietly down the stairs. Ginny stood up and told her mum, 'I'm just going to say goodbye to Harry.' and vanished from the room.

As Weasley stormed in and added his trunk to the pile, which had grown almost as tall as the ceiling in the small room, Mrs Weasley took down the box from the mantle and declared, 'All right, all right, Charlie is going to Apparate first, and once we get his Floo, you two can go on and Disapparate—Hermione, Ron, and Ginny'll go by Floo with the trunks—'

Charlie had disappeared with a  _crack_ just as Adeline leapt to her feet, calling 'Teddy!' Everyone looked up as she dashed across the room, braving the cluttered sea of trunks to attack herself to her brother's leg.

Theodore sighed before carefully pulling her off and holding her by the hand. Squatting down he whispered something in her ear and she bit her lip, but nodded obediently. Satisfied, Theodore looked up and approached Mrs Weasley, who stiffened as he drew close, but did not back away. Draco noticed there was still a slight limp to his walk—thought it was subtle, and he hid it well.

'I was wondering,' he said slowly, 'if you would be good enough to take my sister with you.'

Mrs Weasley blinked, apparently startled by the request. Theodore misread it as hesitation and continued, 'She's quiet, never makes a fuss, you honestly wouldn't even know she was there—'

'Oh—oh! No, no, I mean—of course, dear, if—if you really think—'

'I think it'd be best to have her as far away from me as possible during—' Theodore smiled, brief and viciously, his teeth flashing out the corner of his lips. 'Thank you. I appreciate it.'

Mrs Weasley offered her hand and, after looking longingly up at her brother for a moment, Adeline dropped his and accepted Mrs Weasley's, squeezing her doll protectively with her other arm.

Mrs Weasley beamed down at her. 'That's a good girl. Don't you worry, it'll be fine. And I think Ginny's got some old dolls that she doesn't want any more, if you like.' Adeline winced away from her voice as if she'd been scolded, but at least she hadn't started crying. Theodore seemed to take this as a good sign, nodded, and turned to return upstairs.

Just then the fireplace besides Draco roared and turned green due to an incoming Floo. Draco stood up and backed away from the spitting flames, in which Charlie's head now sat.

'It's fine, Mum,' he said, coughing through the dust. 'Start tossing me the trunks, you can't carry all of those through.'

Deciding there was far too much activity in the room to stomach, Draco crept carefully back outside, skulking down the hallway towards the kitchen. He wasn't hungry, but knew where Tonks kept the Firewhisky stashed in the back cupboard, and definitely thought he could do with a drink. One could only take so many Weasleys in one day, after all.

Looking back on things, Draco really wished he'd had just gone back up to his room.

It would have been funny, Draco thought, if Mrs Weasley knew what her daughter had meant exactly when she said she was saying goodbye to her boyfriend. Draco personally felt he'd been scarred for life by the sight that greeted him when he opened up the kitchen door.

Potter was sitting on one of the many chairs around the kitchen table, and Ginny was right there in his lap, her thighs draped across his hips and held in place by his hands. Her hands were tangled in his hair and twisting; her forearms and her curtain of hair hid most of the damage, for Draco could only see the  _implication_ of what that girl was doing to Potter's face. One of Potter's hands was furtively sneaking up the inside of her shirt and Draco, horrified, cleared his throat as loudly as he could.

Potter whipped around in his seat just as Ginny jerked backwards, which was probably unwise, as it sent Potter and his chair toppling backwards onto the floor.

Over a string of colourful language from Potter, Ginny yanked her shirt down hard and glared at Draco. ' _Jesus_ , Malfoy, do you think it would  _kill you_  to knock!'

Draco folded his arms and regarded her coolly. 'Oh, sorry,' he drawled. 'Didn't realise that Headquarters for the Order doubled as a Hôtel d'Amour.'

'Fuck you, Malfoy,' Potter managed to hiss, climbing painfully to his feet.

'Kind of you to offer, but I see she's got that much covered,' he replied, smirking at the colours Potter was turning.

Ginny, however, seemed surprisingly composed aside from the fact that she was furious. 'I don't see what  _you_ can say about it, Malfoy, unless you're admitting that Pansy Parkinson is the tramp we all _know_ she is.'

Draco stiffened, but did not advance; this was a girl, after all, and Weasley or not, Draco was not raised a boor and he crushed his temper down. 'That's funny, coming from you,' he sneered instead, 'considering I'm willing to bet my broomstick your mother had no idea she had a slag for a daughter.'

The insult was barely out of his mouth before Potter was at his throat, wand drawn and looking murderous. 'You ever call her that again, Malfoy, and I swear to god—'

'You'll  _what_?' Draco scoffed, smirking at him. 'I wonder if you've told Weasley what the two of you get up to—though, by the fact that he hasn't  _killed_ you yet, presumably not. Some way to repay his trust, if you ask me, taking advantage of his little sister when he's not looking.'

'Piss  _off_ , Malfoy,' Ginny hissed. 'It's none of your bloody business, what I do or what I don't, and whether or not my brothers know about it. Come on, Harry,' she said, her tone changing as she spoke to her boyfriend, pulling his wand hand down by the wrist and clasping it in her own. 'He's just trying to get a rise out of you. Ignore him.'

'Notice she didn't correct me,' Draco pointed out, a gleeful bubble of satisfaction swelling under his diaphragm as Potter, who had turned away, stiffened. 'I wonder, did she even tell you about her little tryst with Pucey? I know they tried to keep it clandestine, what with the House-wars and everything, she even started dating Thomas so nobody'd suspect—'

'How dare you,' Ginny snarled, rounding on him. Potter looked between the two of them, furious at Draco but too curious just the same to stop him. 'You snivelling little shit—'

'Ooh,' Draco taunted, getting into stride, 'so who's given me a rise, now? You broke poor Adrian's heart, you know, he was convinced he was  _so_ in love with you, even with everyone in Slytherin telling him what a tramp  _you_ were. Can't say I'm sorry he finally figured you out, though, I was really quite sick of hearing about some of the things the two of you would get up to—'

'That's  _enough_ , Malfoy!' Potter snapped, who was apparently not  _that_ curious. 'It's none of your fucking business, what she does, or what I do, so do us both a favour and just fuck off.'

Ginny started to talk but Potter cut her off with a look, a look that reminded Draco of the sort his father had frequently used to quell insubordination, and said, 'Forget it, Gin. I don't  _want_ to know.'

Ginny hugged her forearms against her sides and glared harshly at Draco before disappearing out the door and up the stairs, Potter following quickly without a backward glance, and slamming the door.

Draco, humming contently, sashayed over to the cupboard—then, deciding he no longer required the whisky to calm his nerves, summoned a pitcher of pumpkin juice instead.

: : :

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pucey – Adrian Pucey, a Slytherin Chaser listed in the lexicon. He's listed to have started Hogwarts in either 1989 or 1990; for the purpose of this fic, it'd be 1990, which would put him in his seventh year during HBP.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

_Never go to bed mad. Stay up and fight._  
-Phyllis Diller

: : :

'So,' Draco said, sitting on the edge of the bench. Potter was across the other side of the table, leaning both hands on the top and glaring at him. 'With the Weasley Mother gone—'

'Don't call her that.'

'—what are we supposed to eat?'

Potter blinked at him. 'Er. I dunno.' He thought for a moment, then asked, 'Can you cook?'

Draco stared at him. 'Potter, recent meals aside,  _house-elves_  have cooked every single meal I've ever eaten.'

'Oh. Um.' Potter glanced at the small, metal trunk that served as the icebox in the corner. 'Leftovers?'

'With that army eating, there's no such thing,' Draco said, rolling his eyes. 'Can  _you_ cook?'

'Er...' Potter frowned. 'Not really. My aunt always made me watch the food, she never let me  _cook_ it—look, there's got to be something here, just cereal or something—'

'Cereal is  _breakfast_ food, Potter.'

'Well then bloody go hungry,' Potter snapped, losing his patience. 'The moon's rising soon anyway, we don't have time to cook. Just grab something and take it upstairs.'

Draco sighed and kicked open the icebox, lazily rifling through the stash of foods kept preserved inside. Lupin had already locked himself and Theodore in the master bedroom, which had apparently already been fortified from his previous stay in the house to accommodate his monthly transformation.

'It'll be safer,' Lupin had assured them, 'for him as well as you both, if I'm there with him. We can't risk giving him the potion yet, but at least one of us will have our heads.'

To which Draco asked, 'But won't he attack you if you're the only other thing in the room?' Lupin had shrugged. 'Then what?'

Lupin had just raised his eyebrows. 'Then I'll put him in his place.'

Draco had decided he really did not want to know any more about werewolves or their disturbing habits, and then had been terrified to learn that they'd be staying in Potter's room, just below the master bedroom with the two blood-bent monsters.

'It's got all sorts of protection on it, aside from just the ones on Headquarters,' Potter had vaguely explained with a shrug. 'And anyway, it has the portrait that can talk to Dumbledore, which is important.'

Draco was pulled back to the present with his rather pleasant discovery in the icebox. 'Ah-hah,' he declared, smirking. 'Dinner!'

Potter glanced over from the cupboard he'd been rifling through, and gave him a look. 'That's ice cream, Malfoy.'

'So?' Draco demanded, hugging the tub of  _Butterbeer Swirl_  to his chest.

'You can't have just ice cream for dinner.'

'Says who? The werewolf? He'll be too busy howling at the moon to give a damn what we're having for dinner. Hell, they'll want  _us_ for dinner, if anything. If this is possibly my last meal, I'll eat what I like, dammit.'

'Fine, shut up, I don't care, eat the stupid ice cream. I hope it gives you a stomach ache,' Potter said, exasperated and turning away. 'And nobody is going to get eaten,' he added after a moment.

'Famous last words, Potter.'

The trip upstairs was a quiet one. Draco had his ice cream and a large spoon, and Potter had seen the error of his ways and decided a few pumpkin pasties and a pack of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans would do him good. Draco flopped happily on his bed and flipped open the lid, disgruntled to find someone had already raided half the tub, but it probably saved him the stomach ache, so he didn't bother to complain.

Halfway through the remains of the ice cream, Draco felt like he'd swallowed a bucket of ice and decided to take a break before the cramping began to get unbearable. Instead, he'd taken to coating his spoon in the melting edges of the dessert and doing obscene things to the appliance with his tongue, waggling his eyebrows suggestively at Potter—who was rolling his eyes in a resigned sort of despair.

'That is really, truly disgusting, Malfoy,' Potter said, making a face.

Draco smirked and licked the cream off his upper lip. 'I doubt you'd say that if your little girlfriend learned how to do it.'

'Speaking of my girlfriend,' Potter said, probably in attempt to hide the rising colour of his cheeks, 'you need to watch your mouth about her.'

'Funny, I could tell her the same thing.'

Potter frowned. 'All right,' he said after a moment, surprising Draco. 'Fair enough. And for the record, I never thought that about Parkinson.'

Draco considered for a moment, then smirked. 'I wasn't lying, you know,' he said finally. 'About Pucey.' He paused as Potter tensed, eyes narrowing. 'Are you  _sure_ you don't want to know?'

'It's none of my business,' Potter said flatly. ' _Or_ yours, for that matter. I don't care.'

Draco was extremely pleased to see Potter fuming, but the victory was short-lived; above them, something gave a laboured, tortured cry and there was a  _thump_ as if something large had collapsed above them. Draco's eyes moved to the uncovered window and discovered that the sky had started turning indigo already, and he wondered if the moon was visible on the other side of the house yet.

The noise from upstairs drifted off, and it was quiet for almost a minute, and then there was the same sound, only deeper, more ragged, and Draco felt himself shiver and didn't think it had anything to do with too much ice cream.

'Lupin said this'll be the worst part,' Potter said suddenly, when the noise had faded again. He had a distant look in his eyes, focused somewhere outside the window. 'The change, I mean.'

Draco nodded, absently; Lupin had taken them both aside separately, and likely to tell them the same thing:

'Whatever you do, whatever you hear, or think you hear, you  _must not leave that room_ ,' he'd told Draco in the most serious voice Draco had heard since the last time he'd seen his father. 'For your own safety, as well as Theodore's.'

Draco really didn't have any plans of leaving the room at all until the sun came back up. He'd already used the loo and had plenty to drink stashed under his bed, and the ice cream would hold until breakfast. Pulling off his outer clothes aside from a thin t-shirt and Tonks' jeans, he reclined in his bed, hoping to fall asleep before the worst of it.

He almost managed to get to sleep, and then realised it would have been a moot point anyway, because then Theodore started screaming.

'Jesus Christ,' Draco whispered, wincing.

Potter had his eyes closed, but Draco could see the line of his shoulders were pulled taut—Draco, similarly, found himself wedged into the corner of the walls his bed was against, pressing himself against the wallpapered plaster so hard his shoulders were growing sore, and the sound seemed to almost reverberate through him. Theodore wasn't screaming like a kid upset screaming, or his mother had died and he was angry screaming, or even a scared-shitless screaming—it was screaming of a pure, unadulterated  _agony_ , the sort of sound that made you imagine, even feel, every ounce of torture.

In what was probably only a few minutes but felt like several hours, the screams changed. It was a subtle change that Draco didn't notice at first, even with the sound coursing through him, but the vocalisations had steadily began to lose their familiarity. Slowly, surely changing, becoming more animal and less human, the low, agonised moans trailing off into deep, guttural snarls that made Draco think of deadly, golden eyes and sharp white teeth hiding in dark places.

'Oi, Malfoy.'

Draco looked up and, somehow, managed to catch the bottle Potter had tossed at him from across the room. Draco stared at him, watching Potter dig out another bottle from a box he'd dragged out from under his bed. Draco turned the bottle over, looking at the label. He looked at Potter and raised an eyebrow.

'Takes the edge off,' Potter said, shrugging. 'It was Lupin's idea, believe it or not.'

Draco abandoned his ice cream and, twisting the top off the lager in his hand, gave him a half-hearted toast. 'Cheers.'

: : :

Draco finished off the lager, and it joined the other five empty bottles on the floor by his feet. There was a single candle lighting the room now, just by Potter's bed, and he could see a similar pile of empty bottles at the foot of it. He looked mournfully to the side and discovered he'd gone through the stash Potter had given him, but the crashing and murderous snarls in the room above were still making him wince.

'Toss another,' he said.

Potter squinted up at him. 'You had  _six_ , Malfoy.'

'And now I've got zero,' Draco informed him irritably. 'And I am still coherent. So toss another.'

Potter frowned. 'This is the last of it,' he said, holding up a bottle that was half-full of some amber-coloured liquor. 'At least without going back downstairs.'

'Give it here,' Draco insisted.

'Piss off,' Potter said. 'Just because you've gone through your lot like a sot doesn't mean you can nick mine.'

With a considerable effort, Draco focused on the fuzzy, dark blot that was Potter. 'Don't make me come over there and get it, Potter.'

'As if you can even stand after six.'

Not about to be undermined, Draco hauled himself to his feet. Albeit not very gracefully, but he made it to a standing position nonetheless. 'You were saying?'

'That you are a git,' Potter finished. 'One who intends to steal my brandy, and—oi,' Potter made a face as Draco collapsed beside him, nearly knocking him sideways, and snatched the bottle out of his hand. 'Prat. Piss off.'

'Cheers,' Draco said, and took a generous swallow. 'Eugh, this stuff tastes worse than the lager.'

'It was this or Firewhisky.'

'Firewhisky!' Draco exclaimed, keeping a forceful grip on the brandy that Potter attempted to reclaim. 'We have more Firewhisky? Why the hell am I drinking lagers when we have Firewhisky?'

'Because there was only one bottle, and I think it's Snape's,' Potter said irritably, finally wrenching the brandy bottle back. 'Ow. God, you're pointy. Budge over.'

'Sod off,' Draco snapped, taking the bottle back with a well-aimed snatch.

'You are such a fucking pushy bastard.'

'You forgot "good-looking".'

'I forgot "ferret-faced".'

'You also forgot to take that mop off your head.'

Potter, momentarily giving up the fight for the bottle, glared sideways at him. 'Is it like, an inherited impossibility for you to be civil?'

'To you?' Draco askedthrough another sip. 'I just enjoy being a pillock.'

Potter rolled his eyes, but didn't comment. Instead, he snatched the brandy back. Draco whined, disgruntled, and made a sorry attempt at recapturing it. Potter slapped his hand away, so Draco hit him, and next thing Draco knew, they were having an all-out brawl over the bottle.

Draco shortly lost said brawl when his head smacked into the wall with a loud  _thud_ and Potter wrenched away from him, and they both froze as the noise upset the fresh werewolf upstairs, and it gave a particularly nasty roar.

'Bugger,' Draco said, as Potter cursed. He sat up and touched his temple and winced; oh, there'll be a bump there in the morning...

'You all right?'

Draco blinked down at Potter, whose head was somehow now in his lap. So  _that_ was what that weight was. 'Er,' Draco said. 'I don't know.' He rubbed his head lightly until the throbbing died down to a steady pulse, then said, 'That can't be good, can it?'

Potter frowned and, after a long, mournful look at the bottle, handed Draco the brandy. 'That'll dull it either way.'

Draco snatched it away without hesitation. 'Ah-hah, victory!' he declared, then afterwards considered that it was a bit of a dorky thing for him to do, but decided he didn't care because he was the Winner and that was all that mattered.

Potter snorted. 'You can't say that until you've beaten me to the Snitch.'

Leave it to Potter to spoil the moment. 'I hate you,' Draco informed him.

'Sure you do,' Potter said, grinning.

'I do! I hate you like… erm… oil hates water. I hate you like Hippogriffs hate me. I hate you like Snape hates hygiene. I hate you like... like...' He paused, thinking—something that certainly required more effort than normal and slowed the process of communicating considerably.

'Like spiders hate Basilisks?' Potter suggested.

'Yes,' Draco agreed. 'And even more than that. I hate you like you hate me.'

'Hm.' Potter shrugged against his lap. 'I don't really hate you that much.'

Draco rolled his eyes again.

'What? I don't,' Potter said, narrowing his eyes. 'I think you're a git. A spoilt little brat that treats people like scum when they don't deserve it. And I hate being  _around_ you—'

'Says the sod with his head in my lap.'

'—I just don't  _hate_ hate you,' Potter finished, ignoring his comment. 'I mean, I thought I did. Before the whole thing,' he made a vague motion with his hands, 'in school, you know.'

'With Dumbledore?'

'No,' Potter admitted. 'Before that. In the bathroom.'

There was a noteworthy pause. The phantom pain in his chest was back and Draco shifted slightly, while Potter's expression contracted, probably realising that that was perhaps not the best thing to talk about.

'Anyway,' Potter said quickly. 'What I mean is, I don't—'

'Hate me, yes, I heard you,' Draco snapped irritably.

'I don't,' Potter said again, then sighed and closed his eyes.

'What would you call it then?'

'Very extreme dislike?' Potter offered, eyes still closed. His temple was resting against the crook of Draco's hip, and random wisps of black hair were tickling the inside of his elbow. Draco didn't answer him, and after a moment Potter said, 'Pass that brandy, would you?'

'You'll spill it on yourself like that.'

'Will not. Give it here.'

Draco, a bit grudgingly, handed it over. 'You've got a big head,' Draco felt it necessary to inform him, and was mildly impressed that Potter managed to take a long swig without spilling it on himself, or his lap.

'You've got a very pointy noise.'

'And a big ugly scar on your block.'

'Too much what-not in your hair.'

'I can't believe  _you_ just had a go at  _my_ hair,' Draco said, wrinkling his nose as he lightly ruffled the mop in his lap. 'Do you even  _own_ a brush, Potter?'

'Wouldn't matter if I did,' Potter said, smirking. He looked odd, smirking with his eyes closed. 'Brushes don't make a difference. Nothing does.'

Draco, whose hand was still tangled in said hair, squinted at him. 'Lies,' he declared, using his fingers as a makeshift comb. He frowned as the task turned out to be a lot trickier than he first considered, as Potter's hair absolutely refused to lie flat under his fingers.

Potter's smirk continued to grow the harder Draco tried, and snickered as Draco cursed and lightly thumped him in exasperation. 'Told you so.'

'Bugger that,' Draco said, going back at it. 'This won't be the end of me.'

'S'lost cause,' Potter warned him.

'Quiet, mortal.'

Potter snorted softly, but obliged. He leaned his head to the side, so his nose was all but pressing in Draco's hip, to give him better access. Potter's hair was longer than it looked—the strands were as long as Draco's fingers, at least—but it stuck up so much and was so thick that he didn't notice until he got his fingers tangled in it. And  _tangled_ was accurate, because his fingers were constantly caught in little knots as he brushed through it with his fingers. By the time most of the knots were gone, Draco noticed that Potter's hair was, despite the mess, rather soft, but still refusing to cooperate. Untangled and soft or not, it was still defying gravity in a very unsightly manner. Draco figured that he must have been too drunk to use his heavenly powers to correct it.

Potter grunted at the sudden lack of attention. Draco raised an eyebrow. 'What's that?'

'Why'd you stop?'

'I gave up. You are impossible, and so is your stupid hair.'

Potter made another noise, one that sounded like a cross between a gurgle and grunt. 'Don't.'

'Why?'

Potter shifted, burrowing his nose deeper into his hip, and mumbled what sounded like, 'Felt good.'

Draco blinked, and considered that information very carefully before saying, 'What do I get out of it?'

Potter thought for a moment, then said, 'The rest of the brandy?'

'Deal.'

Potter handed him the bottle and, after a generous drink, Draco set his fingers back to work. He'd got the easy end of the deal, he reasoned; combing Potter's hair with his fingers was easy, mostly due to the fact that he played with his own hair enough for the movements to come naturally.

Potter sighed under the touch and sagged against his waist, occasionally twisting his head this way and that when Draco's fingers came to an area he was lying on. Draco started at the top, running his fingers through the fringe against his forehead and temples, and Potter jumped a bit when his thumb accidentally brushed against his scar.

'Sorry,' Draco said automatically.

'No, s'fine,' Potter murmured. 'Just—not used to it.'

Draco brushed it with his thumb again, deliberately now. Potter shivered, but not unpleasantly, and Draco decided that it was a rather alarming development and got back to work with his hair. He kneaded his fingertips against the temple before brushing the hair there back, tucking it behind his ear.

He nudged the hook of Potter's glasses he encountered there with his finger. 'Take these off.'

Potter wordlessly obeyed, blindly folding them and tossing them aside. Then he turned his forehead so it laid flat against Draco's abdomen, leaving the entire back and sides of his head exposed. Draco smirked, amused at how enthusiastic Potter was about it; it was like having a sleepy (if slightly drunk) puppy in his lap, begging to be pet. Well, who was he to deny? He had the brandy, anyway.

He smoothed the collar of Potter's shirt down so he could get his fingers under the hair at the base of his neck, and ran his fingers up the back of his scalp, letting his nails dig in a little; Potter groaned lightly, encouragingly, and Draco did it again, only now with both hands and letting his fingers branch out to get the backs of his ears. He felt Potter expel a hot breath out his nose into his shirt, sighing as he repeated the movement in varying degrees, earning more variously pleased noises as he works.

'Hell,' Potter said after a few minutes.

Draco smirked lazily and ran his thumb behind his ear, smoothing the skin there, while his other fingers rustled through the unkempt hair. 'Good?'

'Grungkh,' Potter said into his hip. Then, a bit breathless but more coherently, 'God. Yes.'

Draco decided that, alarming or not, he was a bit tempted by the power he suddenly had; to make Potter feel that way was like exerting a control over him Draco had never possessed before. He started at the base of Potter's neck again, really digging his nails in, and then Potter let out a sound that sounded far too close to a muffled moan into his stomach.

Oh, bother, Draco thought. We are  _not_ going there.

Potter swallowed against his hip, but didn't protest when Draco's ministrations lost most of their fervour, lightly rifling through the strands, smoothing the random bits that kept popping up defiantly. A few moments of sleepy silence passed by that way, until Potter suddenly rolled onto his back so that his head was now resting on Draco's thigh. He looked up at Draco, took him by the collar and gently but firmly pulled his head down. The angle was painful, and Potter's grip was so tight it choked him a bit.

'Potter,' he managed to say, 'if backs were meant to be bent this way, blokes would be giving themselves blowjobs.'

Draco then had the realisation that perhaps now was not the appropriate time to mention blowjobs, or anything that had to do with that sort of idea, really.

Potter ignored his comment and held him there. Then he used his other hand to touch the back of Draco's neck and ran his fingers under the curtain of silky hair there, kneading and scraping similarly with his fingernails. Draco let out an involuntary gasp and his forehead dropped forward, hitting Potter's cheek.

'Told you,' he heard Potter murmur by his ear.

Bleakly, Draco nodded against his cheek, before shifting his legs out from under Potter's head—soon they were lying side-by-side instead, with Draco's head by Potter's hip and Potter's similarly vice-versa. He was lying on his stomach, and Potter continued to play with his hair, and Draco dimly wondered if that was a bad idea. It felt good, and he had no issue admitting that he did not want the massage to stop; however, Draco also was aware that bad ideas frequently felt very good ideas at the time of conception, and end up feeling a lot less good and much more awkward and terrifying later.

The wolves upstairs were fighting again; there was a difference between the two, one Draco could hear in both their snarls and their footsteps, one heavier and more controlled, another wild and blinded by rage. He could hear them slam against the walls, scramble to their feet, bound and leap from one end of the room to the other, so forcefully he was surprised it didn't rip the house apart. And then, a loud slam of something hitting—or being pinned—to the floor, and a puppy-like squeal, and then silence.

Potter's fingers sorted out the tangles in his hair, smoothed down the knots in the back of his neck, and Draco watched the moon slowly set through the window as he finally drifted off to sleep.

: : :


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen**

_'It's better to know some of the questions  
than all of the answers.'_  
\- James Thurber

: : :

Draco wasn't sure when he fell asleep. The last thing he remembered were Potter's fingers kneading the skin at the back of his neck, accompanied by the occasional, hard tug at the roots of his hair and how that had simultaneously hurt and felt incredible...Draco smiled unconsciously into the duvet and twisted, trying to get more comfortable.

His knee encountered a hard object and the collision was instantly followed by, 'Ow! Fuck, Malfoy.'

The hard something turned out to be Potter's head. He was lying on his back, now propped up on his elbows and rubbing the side of his head with one hand. Draco twisted around some more to get a better look at him.

The first thing he thought was that Potter looked very odd without his glasses.

The second thing was, _thank Merlin we're both fully dressed._

'Where the hell are my glasses?' Potter wondered aloud.

With a groan, Draco rolled over and sat up, and then immediately wished he hadn't; the hangover hit him like a Bludger, cracking his head in two and spilling his brain all over the wall behind. The sickness welled inside the back of his throat, and he took a moment to let his stomach adjust to being vertical and managed to swallow the acid back down. The ensuing burning in his esophagus combined with the pulsing around his temples left him feeling, if possible, more awful; if the Dark Lord had leapt out of the wardrobe and killed him right then, it would have been a welcome relief.

Despite the feeling of just having Splinched himself, Draco forced himself to untangle from the sheets. There was something pointy sticking into his thigh.

'I think,' he said, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, 'I've sat on them.'

He pulled out the offending glasses and saw that he had, indeed, sat on them, and they'd been bent a bit funny. He dug in his pocket for his wand, tapped them swiftly, and they reverted back into their original shape. He handed them to Potter, who groped for a moment before cramming them back on his face.

'Thanks,' Potter said absently. Draco managed to swing his legs over the edge of the bed, and suddenly the answer to the throbbing in his forehead, the fingers in his hair, and the bed-sharing became clear. A large cluster of various liquor bottles—mostly lager, from the looks of it—were pooled around his feet.

Potter similarly swung his feet off the bed and looked down. 'Good lord.'

'I'm going to have a shower,' Draco declared, and attempted to stand up. It ended up being a rather silly idea, and his arse reconnected with the mattress as gravity tugged him back down.

Potter snorted and stood with ease, stretching. Draco glowered at him—of course, Harry Potter was too bloody  _perfect_ to submit to normal things like hangovers. He yawned and offered Draco a hand; Draco wrinkled his nose.

'Oh, get out of it,' Potter said. 'You'll give me a head massage but you won't take a hand up?'

Draco frowned at him. 'You remember that?'

'I always remember,' Potter said, shrugging. 'I've tried drinking to forget, believe me.'

Annoyed but resigned, Draco took his hand. He stared at it for a moment, studying the spectacle that was their hands gripping one another, and wondered why something so trivial could piss him off so much. Potter pulled him to his feet before he could decide to pull away, however, and Draco staggered into a standing position, shoving Potter away with as much force as one dizzy with a hangover could manage without falling over.

He wavered for a moment, finding his centre of gravity, then before Potter could decide to comment further on the absurdity of the night before, declared again: 'Right.  _Shower_.'

As he walked—slowly, but steadily—over to the door, Potter called out sarcastically behind him, 'You're welcome.'

Draco made a rude hand-gesture without turning around, slamming the door on his way out.

: : :

As far as Draco was concerned, the events of last night were all an evil ploy conceived by Potter, who was apparently a closet homosexual and had used the excuse of an empty house save for two werewolves in an attempt to swindle his innocence. He could probably blame the acquired taste on his sire, as Potter—much like his father, from what Draco had heard—seemed to have a weakness for the extraordinarily attractive, if Chang and her dead boyfriend were anything to go by. His little scarlet woman wasn't harsh on the eyes either, if Draco were going to be fair about it. So it was probably just his natural Malfoy beauty that had Potter so desperately trying to hoodwink him.

Draco studied his reflection in the steam-glazed window, and found himself smirking.

All right, he thought, that may have been a  _bit_ of an exaggeration.

Out of his own clean clothes and having no house-elves to do his laundry, Draco had lacked the foresight to plan what was to be done once said shower was finished. He vaguely recalled seeing Tonks' jumper hanging half-out of a wardrobe upstairs in the room she shared with Lupin and, wrapping himself in a bathrobe he found in the closet, crept out into the hall and quickly jogged up the stairs. Sprinting over the last step he nearly impaled himself on the handlebar of the motorbike he'd uncovered on his first trip to this room; it had been moved into the hall, sans the canvas cover, and the chrome winked at him through the feeble sunlight filtering in through the window.

Suddenly, Draco remembered  _why_ he and Potter had turned to the booze the night before, and pressed the door to the master bedroom open as quietly as he could.

Lupin was no longer in the room—the  _room_ , which Draco saw, in an awestruck stupor, was in complete disarray. There were long, gouging claw-marks in every surface his eyes could see, scraps of parchment, clothing, wood, and glass strewn haphazardly around the floor. Feathers decorated disembodied pillows, making the bed look like it had served as a sacrificial altar for an entire coop of hens.

A large clump of ragged blankets and sheets beneath the gutted pillows stirred and emitted a drawn-out groan.

'Oh, god,' came a ragged voice. 'Please tell me you've come to kill me.'

Draco gave the lump a cautious, gentle prod with his wand. It growled back, but weakly and without much conviction. Pulling the blankets back gingerly, Draco uncovered a completely naked, filthy Theodore that was half caked in dust and half caked in dried blood. Similar claw marks to those on the wardrobes and floor adorned his back and shoulders, and the back of his neck boasted a deep bite wound. Draco dropped the bloody sheets in alarm.

'Kill you? You already look dead.'

'I also feel dead,' Theodore noted, either unwilling or unable to move, despite his indecency.

'Did he do—' Draco made a vague gesture at the wounds, unable to finish the question.

Theodore tried to shake his head, then winced. 'No—well, yes—but it's not what you think,' he added quickly, then grabbed his throat and pinched his eyes tightly together. 'I think I'm going to be sick.'

To his credit, he wasn't, but after Theodore recovered from the nausea and rolled into an upright position so that he was facing Draco, Draco stepped back with a start, eyes wide.

'What?' he rasped.

Draco blinked. 'I think you need to see this for yourself, mate.'

Very, very carefully, Draco helped him up, his shoulder becoming a makeshift crutch under Theodore's arm and carefully avoiding all of his many ghastly wounds or areas that would impugn his dignity. They limped over to the wardrobe together, which Draco opened with a quick flick of his wand, exposing the slightly cracked, full-length mirror inside the door.

'Sweet bloody Hippogriffs,' Theodore said, staring.

Where there had once been the body of a stringy, sharp-angled teenager there was now a lean, hardened form that looked like it could have belonged to someone who wrestled dragons for a hobby. It wasn't even that Theodore had gotten any bigger; but the pasty, somewhat squishy flesh of a teenage boy had suddenly been replaced with muscles that made it look like Theodore had been playing Quidditch religiously since he could walk.

Theodore, still staring stupidly at his reflection, gave his stomach a cautious prod with his fingertips. 'Well,' he said eventually, grinning a bit sheepishly. 'He  _did_ say there were perks.'

: : :

When Lupin had handed Theodore a plate of meat and eggs for breakfast (accompanied by a tall glass of milk), he didn't wrinkle his nose or ignore it like he had the morning before. It took three solid helpings and an extra glass before Theodore finally shook his head, unable to eat any more without regurgitating the first three rounds. Still put off by the smell of dirt and blood from that morning, Draco stuck to cold cereal and ate quickly. Potter kept shooting him looks and Draco wanted to get out of the kitchen as quickly as possible.

Despite the appetite, Theodore seemed to be still suffering from the previous night. His movements were slow and careful, and even still, he kept sporadically exhibiting loss of motor control—his hands shook, or his wrists refused to bend, or his elbow would give a funny jerk—symptoms which, Lupin assured them, were all a result of the fact that his body just suffered a major change and was still adjusting, and would cease once he'd had a few lunar cycles under his belt. Draco idly wondered if Lupin had the lithe body of a panther beneath the shabby robes, then decided for the benefit of his own health he never wanted to find out.

Draco shoved his dishes in the sink and made a quick break for upstairs—and he nearly made it, but then he heard the door below him opened and closed again.

'Wait, Malfoy.'

Against his better judgment, Draco paused on the stairs but did not look back. He said nothing.

He could hear Potter climb a few stairs, then hesitate and stop. 'Er, about last night—'

'There is nothing about last night worth the breath to discuss it,' Draco interrupted curtly.

Potter didn't reply immediately, and Draco took another step before he tried again. 'I didn't mean—Look. I don't like being stuck here with you any more than you do. But we sort of got along last night and it's nice  _not_ to have a headache every time we're both in the same room, so—I dunno. I guess I just want to make sure we're all right.'

'All right?' Draco did turn around then, expression and voice dripping with contempt. ' _All right?_  That's implying that we were all right  _before_ last night, Potter, which—'

And then the doorbell rang from the hall upstairs, interrupting him, and the portrait began wailing. Draco turned and trotted up the stairs with Potter on his heals, and wrenched the front door open while Potter slammed the curtains shut on Mrs Black.

The sun from earlier had vanished; it was overcast once more, and drizzling. Draco found his gaze even with hooded, brown eyes that looked distinctly annoyed.

'Oh, it's  _you_ ,' Zacharias Smith said, at length, but not sounding particularly surprised or concerned at all. Draco was unwillingly, deeply impressed with the tone of his drawl.

Potter appeared at his shoulder and Draco could practically feel him vibrating with indignation. 'What the hell are you doing here?' he demanded. 'How did you get—'

'Hullo to you, too,' Zacharias interrupted, shoving between them both. 'Mind if I come in? It  _is_ raining, you know.'

Draco and Potter exchanged looks, and Draco experienced a brief epiphany; he suddenly had competition for his prized Potter's Most Annoying Person In My Perfect Life position.

'This is an ugly house,' Zacharias went on behind them, dropping his trunk on the floor as Draco closed the door. 'It smells old. And these people are ugly, too,' he added, scanning the uncovered portraits. 'Are you  _related_ to these people, Potter? Certainly would explain a lot...'

'Excuse me,' Potter said shortly. 'But d'you mind telling me what in the  _hell—_ '

Sighing dramatically, Zacharias shoved an envelope under his nose to interrupt once more. 'I can't be bothered to explain, it's all in there anyway.' Potter snatched the envelope and tore it open, while Zacharias took one more look around before stopping to face them once more, arms folded over his chest. 'So, Malfoy. Fancy seeing you here.'

Draco raised an eyebrow. 'Why's that?'

Zacharias shrugged. 'Everyone at Hogwarts thinks you're dead.'

' _What_?'

'S'what the Prophet is saying, anyway.'

'Why do they think I'm  _dead?'_

'Dunno, didn't bother reading much about it,' Zacharias said distractedly.

Before Draco could make the indignant protest bubbling up inside of him, Potter looked up from the letter in his hands. 'Wait, it's just you? But the letter says—'

The doorbell sounded again, and Mrs Black's portrait resumed its wailing. Zacharias seemed thoroughly amused by the spectacle of Potter attempting to stranglehold the curtains and force them closed; Draco, rolling his eyes, opened the door again.

This time, the meeting eyes were grey and protuberant. 'Well, hello. I'm happy to see you aren't dead.'

Luna Lovegood, Susan Bones, Terry Boot, and a young boy of about ten or eleven whom Draco did not know all peered curiously at him, as if expecting him to keel over and die at any moment. Draco scowled and stepped away from the door and they hurried inside, dragging their various bags and trunks in with them.

'Hi, Harry,' said Luna, wiping the rain off her forehead. 'Did Zacharias give you Dumbledore's letter?'

Potter nodded curtly and looked them over. 'Is this everyone?'

'So far,' Terry Boot said. He gave Draco and then the inside of the entry hall a brief once-over. 'So this is it, huh?'

Potter didn't answer; he was looking curiously at the small boy, who was hiding behind Terry. Terry stepped aside and put a hand on his shoulder. 'Adam, my cousin,' he explained. 'He was staying with us for the summer, luckily.' Adam edged back behind his cousin, shooting Potter a terrified look.

'I'm cold,' Susan Bones said, rubbing her shoulders and shivering; rainwater dribbled down her thick plait into a small puddle on the floor that they had formed. 'Do you have somewhere we can like, change?'

Potter looked a bit lost for a moment, but nodded quickly. 'Yeah, um. Upstairs. You lot can just pick a room, it doesn't matter.'

Susan, Terry and his cousin went up the stairs, followed by Luna, who drifted slowly along behind. Zacharias, however, stayed behind, much to the annoyance of Potter.

'I'm hungry,' he declared. 'Where's the kitchen?'

'Why are  _you_ here?' Potter demanded rudely, ignoring the question. 'I understand the others—but you're pure-blood, and your family hasn't been targeted. And anyway, didn't your mum pull you out school because she didn't want her little boy getting involved with the " _wrong people_ "?'

Zacharias' pompous demeanour vanished. He glared coldly at Potter. 'You know, just because they call you for what you are, Potter, doesn't excuse you from keeping up with current events in the _Prophet_.'

'What are you talking about? What's happened?'

'People have died,' he said scathingly, pulling out a worn-looking article and throwing it down on the floor at Potter's feet. 'That's what happens in war, didn't you know?'

Apparently changing his mind about food, Zacharias turned and followed the path the others had taken upstairs. Potter picked up the article and scanned it quickly. 'Oh, hell,' he said. Draco raised an eyebrow. 'The Creeveys are missing.'

'Both of them?'

'Their whole family,' Potter said, eyes still on the article. 'We're both listed as "whereabouts unknown", too. So's Blaise Zabini.'

Draco knew Blaise, of course, but Blaise had never been particularly bothered with any of them, preferring to mingle with the older students. He shrugged half-heartedly. 'His mother probably smuggled him out of the country.'

Potter frowned after a moment. 'I don't get it,' he said, looking up as Draco moved closer to peer over his shoulder at the list. 'I mean, I knew a lot of those people, too. But I don't see any Smiths on the list.'

The list was divided into two columns: those missing, and those confirmed dead; the latter of which usually included most or all members of the family. There weren't any Smiths, though, but Draco noticed that there were other students' names that he recognised under the column of confirmed deaths—Anthony Goldstein, Cormac McLaggen, Su Li, and...

'Potter,' Draco said, snatching and then staring at the list. 'Finch-Fletchley is dead.'

Potter nodded. 'Yeah, I saw. I didn't know him very well.' He paused, and suddenly looked up when he realised Draco was staring at him dubiously. 'Did you?'

Draco stared at him, disbelieving that he and Potter had attended the  _same school_  as he did for six years running.

'Smith is in our year, idiot,' Draco told him, shoving the article back at a bewildered looking Potter. 'He and Finch were best mates.'

Potter continued to stare at him, but Draco saw the comprehension dawn. There wasn't time for him to acknowledge it, however, because the doorbell rang again.

'I thought that was  _it_ ,' Potter hissed, annoyed, slamming the curtains around Mrs Black closed again. Draco rolled his eyes and opened the door, wondering what colour eyes awaited him this time.

The eyes, as it turned out, were narrowed and dark, bottomless pits of contempt that looked even more annoyed than Smith's. Draco had to contain the toddler-ish urge to hug him.

'Mr Malfoy,' Snape said, looking past him. 'Potter.' He practically spat the word, and looked back to Draco. 'I see you haven't managed to poison him yet,' he said. 'Pity.'

Draco immediately moved aside to give Snape room to enter, and stepping back he bit his tongue. Snape was leaning heavily on a cane, and when he stepped over the threshold, it was with a well-pronounced limp. Draco saw Potter open his mouth as if to make a rude retort, then close it. He looked at Draco, who gave him the deadliest glare he could manage, daring him to say a word.

'Have the children arrived?' Snape demanded as Draco closed the door again—hopefully, for the last time. He half-expected the doorbell to ring again while Potter opened his mouth once more to answer, seemed unable to find the words, and settled for nodding. Snape appeared to enjoy this version of Potter, the simple absence of his insolent voice seemed to ease the harsh lines in Snape's face.

'They're upstairs,' Draco added. 'Well, except Theodore, he's down in the kitchen with Lupin.'

'Nott?' Snape asked, bemused. Draco suddenly realised he'd been hospitalised for the entire incident—and if Dumbledore hadn't mentioned it to him by now, he wouldn't know about—

'Professor,' answered a voice at the end of the hall.

The three of them looked up to see Theodore standing outside the door to downstairs, Lupin closing it quietly behind both of them. Snape took one look at the bruise on his left cheek, the long, scabbing mark over his right eye and wound on the side of his neck, and he  _knew_. Draco could see the revelation in his eyes, cold fury boiling in the black pits, his lips forming a scowl and the harsh lines re-embedding themselves in his face.

'Lupin,' Snape said curtly, his eyes never leaving Theodore, who was now looking less like a stringy wolf and more like a cornered rabbit. 'A word.'

Draco and Theodore both winced slightly at the tone of his voice, Draco unable to comprehend how Potter and Lupin stood there and took the full force of it. That tone reminded Draco severely of his father's commanding tone, the one he used when he was in public and indifferent with Draco or, worse, alone and furious. Lucius had never needed to raise his voice to terrify Draco, only to change his tone—it cracked the air like a whip and made him want to cower and cover his head with his hands until the storm blew over.

Lupin strode over to Snape, right through the hurricane his voice had formed in the air, albeit cautiously, into the calm centre in which Snape stood— _leaned_ —and waited, fuming. 'Of course,' he said, turning his gaze briefly to look at Potter and Draco in turn. 'Could you two go help the others settle in?'

'Sure,' Potter said, sounding as eager as Draco was to get away.

Theodore, unfortunately, had not been given permission to leave; he watched their footsteps longingly as they retreated upstairs.

: : :


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen**

'That boy is fifteen!  _Fifteen_!'  
'Well, the Jeep's only six months old, and you just fucked  _it.'_  
 _\- QaF, Brit-style_

: : : _  
_

'He  _what_?'

Theodore looked distinctly uncomfortable. Draco distinctly didn't care. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. He tried again:

'He  _what_?'

'God, just forget it,' Theodore said in exasperation, rolling his eyes at great length.

Draco stared at him in disbelief. 'That's not something you generally just "forget"!'

'I don't see why it's such a big deal.'

'Big deal!  _Big_ doesn't even begin to cover it. The man is a paedophile!'

Theodore gave him a pointed look. 'I was seventeen last May, idiot.'

'All right, sorry, the man is a  _borderline_ paedophile!'

Theodore rolled his eyes again. 'Not  _everything_ in this world is perverse, you know.'

Draco thought about this, and decided that, all things considered,  _most_ things in the world could be taken in one perverse form or the other. But that wasn't the point.

'It just sounds dodgy,' he said, shaking his head. ' _Way_ dodgy. Like, report-it-to-your-Professor-dodgy.'

'Snape was there, too,' Theodore said, shrugging. 'So, like I said, it's not that big a deal. Unless, of course, you think they're  _both_ borderline paedophiles. But anyway, that was the last night, so I don't have to worry about it for another month. He reckons I could handle it on my own, if I start taking the Wolfsbane right away.'

Draco folded his arms and fumed. He was very protective of his fellows; they were  _his_ , as far as he was concerned, and therefore investments worth defending. He did not like the idea of grubby werewolf paws all over one of his respective Slytherins, no matter what the reason.

The wounds Theodore had sported that morning had already begun to fade, leaving him looking rather like a worn and re-stitched doll. Snape may have supervised the physical, but physicals were supposed to be preformed by certified  _Healers_ , not strange adults, even ex-Professors. Certainly they couldn't take Theodore to St Mungo's without them registering him as a werewolf and therefore putting his life at considerable stake, but  _still_.

Draco decided the conversation was a lost cause; obviously, Theodore enjoyed being man-handled by strange men (and werewolves), and that was his business, so long as Draco never, ever had to hear about it again.

Of course, it was his own fault for asking, but he'd know better next time.

'Right. Well. That was educational. So where are you sleeping, now?'

Theodore shrugged. 'Dunno, we're sort of running low on space, aren't we?'

With Terry and his cousin in the study downstairs, Potter in his room, Smith in the one across from it, and the girls in the room on the first floor, this was very true. Lupin was going to stay with Tonks and her family, leaving Snape the master bedroom (something Potter was less than pleased about, especially considering Snape refused to house the motorbike in his quarters under any circumstances whatsoever).

'I already tried getting Potter and Smith in the same room,' Draco told him. 'Potter said he'd rather share with  _me_ , which, of course, is not acceptable by any means, but Smith wouldn't budge either.'

Theodore looked thoughtful. 'I could split with Smith,' he said, shrugging. At the look on Draco's face, he laughed. 'All right, all right, I don't care. Are you sure Potter won't mind sharing since I'm a, well, you know?'

'I really couldn't give a damn,' Draco said shortly.

: : :

Zacharias Smith looked up from his trunk and its contents when Draco opened the door and walked into the room without any warning.

'Most people knock, Malfoy.'

'Most people are polite,' Draco pointed out, dropping his trunk on the floor and giving it a kick up against the side of his bed.

Zacharias, surprisingly, smirked and went back to sorting his schoolbooks. 'Fair enough.'

Draco changed out of his day clothes quickly, shoving his trunk under the bed with one foot as he finished, and dropped backwards on to the bed. Zacharias was already in a pair of pyjama bottoms and a thin t-shirt, still bent over the trunk on his bed and organising the contents. Draco watched him quietly, wondering why in the two days since he'd arrived, he'd yet to breathe a word about Finch-Fletchley.

'Have you lot gotten your Hogwarts letters yet?' Zacharias asked without looking up.

'No,' Draco said through a yawn. 'Why?'

Zacharias sighed and slammed his trunk closed without answering. Kicking it off his bed, he twisted under the covers of his bed and rolled over to face the wall. 'You using that light?'

Draco pulled out his wand and uttered ' _Nox_ ,' extinguishing the lamp in the room. Settling down, the only sound was that of their breathing, his own relaxed and slowly lulling into sleep, and Zacharias', laboured and irregular. The pattern was so irregular that it kept Draco awake just listening to it; he slowly rolled over onto his back, and thought very, very carefully about his words before he spoke.

'Brooding over it won't do you any good,' he said finally. He heard a pause in the breathing, and continued, 'I've got a some Draught left over, if you want it.'

Zacharias was quiet for a moment, his breathing suddenly very shallow. 'Yeah,' he said finally, rolling into a sitting position. 'Thanks.'

: : :

Something dodgy was happening in that room.

Draco didn't notice it the first day; or perhaps he did, but passed it off as nothing and forgot about it later. But by the fifth day since the new sleeping arrangements, it was clear to him that something was  _off_.

He couldn't put his finger on what, except that it had something to do with Theodore and Potter and the fact that, despite Ernie MacMillan, Jake Bradley and Dean Thomas showing up over the next few days and increasingly crowding Headquarters, none of them were sharing the room. Bradley and MacMillan had gone to occupy the room Terry and his cousin, while—much to Draco's chagrin—Thomas had opted for a rickety cot erected in the room he and Zacharias were sharing.

Draco had taken one up-turned nose look at him and muttered something rather rude about a Mudblood being unwelcome in pure-blood territory, and Dean had given him chafed look and said, 'You know, when you do that, you're no better than the Muggles that call me a nigger.'

Being compared to petty Muggles was not something Draco Malfoy was used to, especially when, after long and laborious consideration, he couldn't deny the parallel.

Zacharias had saved him replying. 'Shouldn't you be across the hall with your House prodigy?'

Dean had snorted derisively and adopted a very nasty look. 'If I have to spend one more minute looking at that pillock, I'm going to punch him in the head.'

While MacMillan and Bradley seemed all right with Potter, they seemed less all right with Theodore, whom everyone—aside from Draco, Snape and Potter—was giving a wide berth. Theodore didn't seem to mind particularly; in fact, he spent more of the day locked away in that room with Potter than he did anywhere else in the house.

Draco found this behaviour completely unacceptable. More time with a Gryffindor—Potter, of  _all_ people—than his own Housemates? It was sacrilege!

When he'd confronted Theodore about this, he'd given Draco a dubious sort of look and said, 'Malfoy, since when have I given a damn what you think?' and left Draco standing there in the hall with his mouth wide open, gaping like a lost fish.

'Who cares?' Zacharias said when, in desperation, Draco tried to confide his concerns with someone. 'Let's hope Nott gets wolfish one night and eats him.'

The worst was yet to come, but he wouldn't realise it until later in the afternoon. With Headquarters acting as a sort of refugee camp for targeted students and their immediate family, there was no extra room to hold the Weasleys, to which Draco was very thankful. Still, it was the last day of July and school (and more importantly, his own dorm) were that much closer. It was shaping up to be a rather good day, he thought, as he had the rather pleasant experience of running downstairs with intent to bathe and nearly walking into Susan Bones, who was disembarking the bathroom in wake of her own shower in nothing more than a short, form-fitting towel.

'Erk,' Draco said abruptly, raising his eyes well above her chin with immense difficulty. 'Ah—morning.'

Susan, with her wet, dark hair clinging to her shoulders, offered him a nervous smile and disappeared down the stairs without a word.

Draco closed the bathroom door behind him; the flowery scent of her cosmetics still clung to the heavy, humid air. He allowed himself a smirk, remembering the blush colouring her cheeks.

Maybe this summer wouldn't be too bad, after all.

: : :

With Mrs Weasley and Lupin gone, and Snape more of a foreboding presence in the attic than a supervising adult, the children were left to fend for themselves in respect to food. Susan had risen to the task magnificently, and the others alternated nights assisting her, mostly serving as pot-stirrers and dish-washers while she waved her wand around the kitchen. It wasn't the same calibre as the Weasley mother's entrées, but it was certainly better than cold leftovers.

'Your turn tonight, Malfoy,' she said in a flourish, but did not look him in the eye.

Looking up from his book, Zacharias caught his eye briefly and raised his eyebrows; Draco thought perhaps his smirk told too much, and quickly removed it before following her down to the kitchen.

Whatever intentions he had involving the two of them alone in the kitchen were quickly dismissed. No sooner had he entered the room did he find himself surrounded on all sides by pots and bowls and raw ingredients whizzing in the air, to-and-from the bench at which Susan had begun organising them in various combinations.

'You need to keep the flame under that at medium and stir it counter-clockwise for the first ten minutes, then twice clockwise, then back again—' She looked around to see Draco staring blankly at her. 'You know how to make a Pepper-Up potion?' He nodded. 'Okay, it's the same thing, only with different ingredients. And keep an eye on that skillet, while you're there.'

He did that for ten minutes before she asked for help getting a heavy sack of sugar off the top shelf. 'I'm still a bit rough with heavy things,' she admitted. He handed it to her, his fingers brushing her wrist; she smiled at him and had him set the table before sending him upstairs to get the others. At the top of the stairs he encountered Adam, Terry's cousin, and sent him to ring the dinner bells instead.

The whole lot of them had just trudged downstairs and taken their seats when the doorbell rang. Draco, Zacharias, Dean, Potter, and Theodore all managed simultaneous 'Not it's and, rolling his eyes, Terry said, 'I'll get it.'

Snape wasn't at the meal, nor was he ever; Draco was beginning to wonder if he ate at all. He managed to secure a seat between Susan and Zacharias while staying as far away from Potter and the Slytherin Traitor as possible. Luna had taken a seat beside Adam, who looked terrified of the way she managed to go through her entire helping without a blink. Draco was quite content with accidentally brushing his knee against Susan's thigh (she blushed but kept her eyes on her plate) while he ate, when a sudden surge of noise from above caused a wave of dread to wash over him.

The noise thundered down the stairs and burst into the kitchen, headed by the Weasley Twins.

'Well, well, well!' clapped the one in the lead. 'Aren't you a sorry lot of vagrants!'

Draco froze; beside him, Zacharias stiffened similarly, eyeing the twins with suspicion. They were quickly followed by Weasley, his mother, Granger, and Ginny, however, all of which were grinning broadly.

'Happy birthday, Harry dear,' Mrs Weasley said once everyone had squeezed into the kitchen. She plopped a heavy cake with chocolate icing on the table. 'And hello to the rest of you!'

'Told ya we'd make it,' Ginny said smartly, sidling up beside Potter's seat and giving him a nudge.

Potter returned the grin, but it disappeared when he looked at Theodore and found him glaring menacingly at her.

'I think I'm going to have an early night,' Draco declared, dropping his fork. Zacharias glared briefly at Weasley and Granger, muttered, 'Ditto,' and stood up with him—he was almost immediately followed by Theodore, both of them ignoring the triumphant looks of the surrounding Weasleys. After another moment, Dean dropped his utensils and joined them.

'Are you sure you won't stay?' Mrs Weasley asked as they squeezed their way around the table. 'I made plenty for the lot—'

She paused and pursed her lips in disapproval as Draco gouged the cake with a finger, picking off a sizeable chunk of icing and sticking it in his mouth on his way out. 'Yeah,' he said, licking his finger clean. 'We're sure.'

: : :

'I'm going to stick my wand in my ear if they keep that up,' Zacharias muttered miserably.

Draco, silently, agreed. He did not have anyone to complain to directly, as Theodore had gone back to his own room, leaving Draco with the Hufflepuff and Mudblood. The  _Weird Sisters_  that had been blasting through the floor was bad enough; Celestina Warbeck was more than he was willing to take. When the music finally moved on to _The Randy Red Caps_ , even Dean looked suicidal.

'I can't take it anymore,' he declared, and Draco briefly entertained thoughts of hara-kari until Dean began digging into his trunk with earnest, throwing his robes and books this way and that until, with a note of triumph, held something the approximate size and shape of a dragon egg above his head. It was silver and black and had many buttons and funny markings upon it, but whatever it was, Zacharias seemed to know what it was, because he was suddenly grinning.

'You are the Saviour,' Zacharias declared in a worshipping tone. 'Please tell me you have that Muggle metal music.'

'What do you take me for?' Dean said, scoffing. 'What's better is Hermione showed me a spell to keep the batteries charged with magic, so they never run out.'

Draco did not pretend to be a scholar of music, but he was pretty sure the properties of metal couldn't be applied to sound. He also had no idea what a battery was, but supposed it had something to do with this madness. 'How can you have  _metal_ music?' he asked, half-laughing.

They both ignored him, to which Draco felt very much affronted. He was about to protest when Dean stuck a shiny, flat disc into the top of the metal egg and pressed a button, and the room exploded with noise.

Exploded was the right word, too, he thought, wincing. The music—if you could call it that—was so loud it was impossible to discern  _what_ was being played, much less the instruments themselves. There was something reminiscent of a voice screaming along with the noise, but it was so obnoxiously noisy that he could scarcely tell it apart from the blaring, grinding, screeching garble that made up the music. He clapped both hands over his ears in an attempt to save his hearing, but it blew right through.

'Well,' Zacharias yelled, standing up and coming over to collapse on his bed; Draco glared at him. 'At least we can't hear  _The Randy Red Caps_  anymore.'

: : :

Around ten o'clock, Draco slipped out into the hallway and closed the door tightly behind him. They had been playing the music for  _hours_ and although it was easier than listening to any of the crap coming through the floor from downstairs, his head had started buzzing and in the quiet of the hall, his ears were ringing. The music was muffled somewhat behind the door, but he could hear it pulsing through the thick wood at his back like a pounding heartbeat.

Someone down the hall giggled, and Draco flattened himself against the door—it was dark in the hall, anyway, so what little protection the door frame provided was enough. Besides, Ginny wasn't looking at him; she had her arms around Potter's neck and was murmuring something to him, and then he heard a husky laugh from Potter in return.

 _Oh great,_  he thought miserably. He'd escaped the nightmarish storm of noise just to traumatised by another, only this one was about ten times as worse. He couldn't open the door again without being obvious, and that was assuming they weren't aware of his presence already and just didn't care. Of course, he could just go over there and try to annoy them. How successful that would be, he didn't know—Potter didn't seem too bothered by the knowledge Draco had enlightened him to about his girlfriend the last time.

He was saved making a decision by the door of Potter's room slamming open. Potter had been leaning against the wall beside it and jumped, looking around, alarmed.

Theodore was standing in the doorway, the glow of the half-moon coming in the window behind him and illuminating his outline. 'Some of us,' he said in a deadly voice, 'are  _trying_ to sleep.'

Ginny put her hands on her hips. 'Oh, as if you can even hear us over that racket.'

'That racket I can sleep through, your slurping outside my door I cannot,' Theodore replied curtly.

'Technically, it's  _my_ door,' Potter pointed out.

'Technically, I don't give a damn. Isn't it past your bed time, Weasley?'

Ginny opened her mouth to protest but, as if on cue, her mother's voice rang up the stairs over the muffled music. 'Ginny, darling! Do  _not_ make me come up there and get you!'

The triumphant look on Theodore's face was only surpassed by the snarling indignation on Ginny's. Kissing Potter briefly and muttering a parting 'Happy birthday,' she shot Theodore a filthy look and trudged down the stairs without so much as a glance at Draco. Theodore gave her back a happy little wave.

'D'you have to be such a dick?' Potter demanded, although, oddly enough, he didn't seem all that angry.

Theodore, on the other hand, looked furious now that Ginny had gone. 'If you think  _that_ was being a dick, Potter—'

He paused, cocking his head, and Draco felt suddenly exposed as dark eyes snapped to the shadows in which he'd taken refuge. Potter followed Theodore's gaze. 'What are you doing, Malfoy?'

'Eavesdropping,' Draco replied innocently. 'You know, being a snoop, hearing things I shouldn't. S'hobby, see.'

Potter cracked a grin, but Theodore still looked miffed. He grabbed Potter by the back of his collar and yanked him backwards—Draco raised his eyebrows, expecting a fight, but Potter went easily, his grin snaking into a smirk. Draco was aware he was missing something vital here, but for the life of him couldn't put his finger on what.

Theodore held his gaze all the while dragging Potter towards the door of the bedroom before shoving him through without any ado whatsoever. 'Night, Malfoy.'

: : :


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some folks have expressed concern over the Harry/Theo phenomenon (and some of you are just insanely happy because you are mad and perverted, but hey, that's why I'm here). Keep in mind that this is Draco's POV, so 'why' (and yes, there is a reason outside of what I like to call the General Slashy Factor) may not be explained right away, or very well at all any time soon. Eventually, though, I promise. In the meantime, just enjoy the confusion.

**Chapter Fifteen**

_'You're probably wondering,  
what a place like me is doing in a girl like this!'_  
\- The Mummy

: : :

Snape gave the semi-circle of boys before him a scathing look. 'You must be out of your minds.'

'We will be, if we've got to spend one more night locked up in here,' Potter protested soundly.

Silently, they all agreed. It was, after all, why after many hours and days of deliberation, they had all crammed upstairs outside the master bedroom to make the request. It had seemed like a good idea until Snape had actually opened the door and given them all a look that suggested they had come off the underside of his boot.

And of course, none of them were brave—or stupid—enough to actually  _voice_ said request, much less argue over it, except for Potter.

'Absolutely not,' Snape said shortly, and went to close the door.

Potter jammed his foot in the door. 'We're of age,' he pointed out. 'And this isn't school. You've got no right—'

'Of age and yet just as naïve as your unfortunate godfather, I see,' Snape replied coldly; Potter bristled. 'And even more ungrateful, if such a thing is possible.' He ignored the folded-arms-and-glaring Potter and instead looked down at the foot stuck in his door. 'Remove yourself from my doorway, Potter, or I shall be glad to remove you myself.'

Potter seemed to have some sense, Draco thought, because he removed himself quickly; Snape slammed the door closed in his face before he could breathe another word.

'Greasy  _git_ ,' Potter snarled at the door.

'Bugger that,' Dean agreed. His animosity towards Potter hadn't lessened, but Gryffindors seemed unable to do anything but band together when working for a common cause. The common cause in this case being, quite simply, the need to get out of Headquarters for a few hours before they all went clinically insane.

'I say we go anyway,' Zacharias said as they trudged, defeated, back downstairs. 'He can tell us we can't all he wants, but it's not like he can actually stop us.'

'Even if we do, where would we go?' Terry asked. 'I mean, it's not like we're close to anywhere worth going...'

'We could Apparate,' Theodore pointed out.

'Not all of us have passed out tests,' Draco also pointed out. 'Besides, magic can be traced.'

'What happened to good old fashioned walking?' Zacharias suggested. 'We're wizards, not cripples. Our legs still work.'

'We could drive,' Dean suggested. 'Well, I can,' he said, when everyone looked at him. 'My brother taught me how last summer.'

'Well that's helpful considering none of us own a car,' Potter remarked, rolling his eyes.

'We could borrow one.' Now it was Theodore's turn to be the centre of attention. He narrowed his eyes at their looks. 'What?'

'We are  _not_ stealing a car,' Potter said sternly.

'It's not stealing if we bring it back.'

'Yeah, that's the bit that worries me.'

'Oh, for Christ's sake, stay here then,' Dean snapped. 'I can't believe after you and Ron stole his dad's car and flew it to school  _you'd_  have anything to say against this.'

'Not to mention wandering the halls at night,' Zacharias added, smirking.

'Or leading an illegal school club fifth year,' Draco tossed in, earning a snicker from Theodore. 'Seriously, Potter, I thought you  _had_ a pair.'

Potter frowned but stopped trying to protest.

'What about Ernie and Jake?' Terry asked.

'Ernie? Are you kidding? He won't do anything to jeopardise his getting Head Boy this year,' Zacharias said, rolling his eyes. 'And Bradley didn't bother to come with us so he can babysit your cousin for all I care.'

'Muggle cars don't have a lot of room anyway,' Dean pointed out, and then paused. 'What about the girls?'

: : :

'Are you sure we're allowed to be doing this?'

Draco had taken the backseat window and Theodore the other, leaving Zacharias sandwiched between them. He could hardly complain, though, with Susan acting as warm and soft—if not somewhat heavy—cushion in his lap. Dean was up front with Terry, Potter and Loony, the latter of whom was sitting half-on the former's lap because while the car was fairly roomy, only so many people could fit inside without magically altering it.

'Susie, relax,' Zacharias said, grinning. 'Even if we  _did_ get caught it's not like the Muggles could do anything to us.'

'Where are we going?' Luna asked, staring dreamily around.

'Out. Somewhere. Anywhere,' Dean said. 'A park or something. Does it matter?'

'A park?' Luna replied, looking surprised. 'In the middle of the night? That seems a bit silly.'

'Hey, what about that?' Zacharias said suddenly, pointing out the left side.

'Where?' said Dean distractedly.

'There,' Potter confirmed, pointing as well.

Draco tilted his head back so he could see around Susan. Dean pulled over to the side of a small, lamp-lit street packed with young Muggles.

'It's a pub,' Dean said after a moment of peering around. 'Bit busy, though.'

'Busy is good,' Potter said. 'They're less likely to notice us.'

They more or less piled out of the car and onto the pavement outside of The King's Head, Dean leading the way and Luna drifting idly behind. Susan took a quick look around and glanced nervously back at Draco; he offered her a smile and put a hand on the small of her back. 'C'mon,  _Susie_.' She stuck her tongue out at him and then—at the sudden flash of mischief in his eyes—quickly pulled it back inside her mouth.

'Shit,' Dean hissed. 'There's a cover—I don't have enough for all of us—'

Theodore snatched the Muggle money from his hand, pointed his wand at it, and muttered, ' _Effingous_.'

The couple of notes turned into a very large handful which Dean divided among the lot of them after paying their way inside. It was a small tavern and overcrowded, with low rock music playing in the background and barely audible above the murmur of many voices and occasional laughs echoing through the place. It was strange to be around so many Muggles, but the atmosphere was cosy enough.

Next to him, Susan shrugged off her jacket. 'It's kind of like a small version of the ThreeBroomsticks,' she observed.

If he imagined the Three Broomsticks about half its size and devoid of everything that hinted at wizards, then he could see her point. A small, rectangular bench surrounded the bar and was overcrowded with patrons, some standing, some sitting on tall, rickety stools and teething fags between their lips. They followed Dean to the back where he'd managed to find an empty corner booth and filed in, one after another, around the oval table.

'Oh, this is  _so_ much better,' Dean said, expelling a sharp breath. 'One more night counting nicks in the ceiling and I would've gone mad.'

Several people nodded empathetically. Zacharias, however, slipped back onto his feet. 'Well, while we're here, I'm going to have a drink.'

'What do Muggles drink?' Luna asked.

'Alcohol, like everybody else?'

'You know what she meant,' Susan said, shaking her head. 'It's not exactly like they serve Firewhisky.'

'No, but regular whiskey is almost as good,' Dean assured her. 'But I need to drive us back, so beer'll have do—Smith, grab us a pint.'

'Grab one yourself!'

'Grab me one, too,' Theodore added.

Before Zacharias could explode in indignation at becoming a waiter in a matter of seconds, both Terry and Luna slipped out of their seats and offered to help. Looking begrudged but grateful, Zacharias stalked off with them and Dean in tow, the latter deciding it would probably be for the best he sorted the money issue as the rest were all wizard-raised and likely couldn't tell a note from a napkin—leaving Draco, Susan, Theodore and Potter sitting around the table.

'I hate that pillock,' Potter muttered as they left, glaring at Zacharias' back.

'Well, he's not exactly fond of you,' Draco pointed out cheerfully. 'Seems to be a popular sentiment.'

'Zach's not so bad,' Susan said defensively. 'Honestly, none of you are, at least on your own. It's when you're all together that you turn into nasty, incorrigible wankers.'

The three of them stared at her. Theodore was laughing and shaking his head.

'I think that's the most accurate term I've ever heard applied to you two,' he mused, smirking.

'Piss off,' Potter snapped, but without much conviction.

It was only then that Draco realised that Potter and Theodore were sitting shoulder to shoulder, much like he and Susan. But before he could say anything about it, Dean and the others returned, carrying two large pitchers of something golden and frothy, forcing them all to budge inwards to make room. This was unfortunate because it crammed Draco and Potter next to one another, but Draco chose to focus his attention on Susan, who was a much more pleasant presence on his other side.

It also kept his mind off the fact that sitting next to Potter allowed him to see whose fingers were just under his t-shirt, drawing idle patterns on the small of his back.

'This stuff tastes terrible,' Terry remarked, grimacing over a cup.

'I dunno, I kinda like it,' Susan said, shrugging. 'It's like Butterbeer without the scotch.' Draco raised his eyebrows at her; she blushed. 'My da's Irish,' she admitted. 'Ran a pub over in Bray when I was little.'

Two pitchers later, nobody was fully inebriated, but most of them were feeling considerably more light-headed and uncharacteristically giggly. Except for Potter who, it appeared, was more of a quiet drunk—his eyes were heavily dilated and he was grinning far too much, but had hardly said a word. Luna was perhaps the most interesting near-drunk he'd ever seen. Her eyes bulging wider than ever, she kept hiccupping and trying to braid Zacharias' hair, much to the Hufflepuff's distress. Draco and Terry had eventually consented to hold him down so she could, which had resulted in an upturned pitcher and a very large amount of vocal protesting.

Bored of tormenting the Hufflepuff, everyone had taken to trying to arm-wrestle Theodore—which of course was completely unfair, but Slytherins didn't rat each other out, so Draco watched, amused, as one by one everyone got their arms flattened to the table. Dean even tried using two arms and a considerable amount of leverage; Theodore smirked lazily and sipped his drink, holding his arm up straight for about two minutes of Dean's labouring before smacking his arm down with a half-hearted flex of his elbow.

'Cheater,' Dean grumbled, eyeing Theodore suspiciously.

Theodore smirked but didn't correct him. There was really no point in denying it.

Luna began squirming. Draco at first thought that perhaps a trip to the loo was in order, but eventually she gave Terry a strong prod in the ribs and, complaining about internal bleeding, he pushed his way out of the booth. Luna followed and the two of them wandered off into the crowd, disappearing in the chaotic assembly of swaying, giggling Muggles. Dean decided they needed a refill and went off to fetch it, forcing Zacharias to come along as it had been his resistance that had emptied their third pitcher onto the floor.

Presented with a clear route out of the booth, Susan tugged away from the arm he'd slung around her waist. 'I need to use the loo,' she complained, prying his fingers off her hip. 'Draco, honestly—'

Draco tightened his grip and put on a pout. 'How do I know you'll come back?'

'I promise?' she tried.

Draco gave her a look. 'What good is the promise of a Hufflepuff?'

'Hufflepuffs are honest!'

'I just spent two weeks sharing a room with Smith,' he pointed out. 'The bloke has perfected the art of lying through his teeth.'

She huffed. 'Well, what  _would_ assure you, Mr Malfoy?'

He thought about it. 'Well...' He smirked and lowered his voice. 'How about a kiss?'

'Eugh,' said Potter, across from them. Draco kicked his leg hard under the table.

Susan coloured, pursing her lips while she thought about it. Draco did not ease the hold he had on her waist, trusting her bladder to win out over her propriety.

'Incorrigible,' she muttered, which he took as a victory. She didn't pull away immediately when he kissed her, which only encouraged him, and when he pushed his tongue into her mouth she shrieked and pulled away, giggling and blushing in a way that was, as far as his teenage manhood was concerned, extremely appealing.

Potter at least had the decency to wait until she was out of earshot before sneering, 'I thought you  _had_ a girlfriend, Malfoy.'

Draco looked round at him; Theodore's arm was slung casually over Potter's shoulder, eyes closed and—now that the majority of the table had scampered off—had his nose buried none-to-casually in the hair behind Potter's ear. 'Pot calling the cauldron black, aren't you?'

What he could see of Theodore's mouth snaked into a sneaky grin, and he whispered something to Potter, who turned so they were nose-to-nose and grinned in return, effectively ignoring Draco.

It was infuriating, really, because Draco couldn't take the mickey out of Potter without stepping on Theodore's toes—something he had learned not to do as early as his second year unless he wanted a bloody nose. Still, it didn't make any sense. Theodore had never expressed interest in  _anyone_ at school, so the possibility that he flew on the other side of the pitch was not something Draco found all that hard to believe. But Potter? Aside from Chang and Weasley, he'd never shown interest in anyone else, so not only was his orientation obvious but he certainly didn't come off as the promiscuous type.

Then again, the scrawny tyke in specs he'd met in first year didn't seem like the type able to battle a dragon, score the nearest to perfect record of Snitch-captures in the history of Hogwarts, much less survive multiple confrontations with the deadliest wizard ever to walk the planet, but there it was. Maybe with the past year's events Potter finally began to realise how likely his upcoming doom was and decided to experiment; or maybe Weasley wasn't giving it up; or maybe she was willing but Potter was afraid her six brothers would chop him up into bite-sized bits and feed him to a Hungarian Horntail if he took advantage of it.

Or maybe Theodore had put him under a spell. It wasn't as if that was something he could  _completely_ rule out.

Perhaps it was also infuriating because, even if he had been molesting any one of the  _other_ blokes crammed in Headquarters with them, that Potter didn't seem to give a damn if Draco knew about it or not. Draco liked to think he'd used enough information on Potter—and even made some up—to spread along the school grapevine and make his life miserable that Potter would know better than to expose his experimental trysts.

Of course, there was also the possibility that it was  _well past_ the experimental phases—but in the interest of preserving the fragile state of his own mental health, Draco derailed that train of thought before it could go anywhere.

Theodore was doing something vile and open-mouthed with a combination of teeth, tongue and lips against the junction of Potter's jaw and earlobe. Draco actually caught himself staring when Potter made a violent jerk and Theodore pulled his mouth away, and the reason why was clear a moment later: Dean slammed another pitcher on the table just as Susan returned, her hair (which had been just done up in the usual plait) hanging freely around her shoulders. It was wavy from the braid and longer than Pansy's, but just as black against her pale skin, making the faint pink blush in her cheeks stand out.

Dean seemed to have noticed, too, because instead of sitting down, he placed himself strategically between her and the booth where Draco sat waiting. He murmured something Draco could not hear and, a moment later, Susan said, 'Oh, no,' and started laughing as he led her away.

Draco blinked. Zacharias, who had been waiting to get back into the booth, raised his eyebrows. 'I think you've just been jacked, mate.'

Draco was too blinded by indignation to even bother correcting him ('I am not your "mate", mate.'); his lips formed themselves into a snarl and he stormed out of the booth. It was one thing to be outdone by Potter in Quidditch, or Granger in test scores—but he'd be damned if some scrub-of-a-student-Mudblood was going to beat him in  _this_ department.

Dean, thankfully, seemed to be unaware that he was being stalked. Not five minutes after Draco had followed him he made a break for the loo, in which Draco took the opportunity to slip his hands around Susan's waist from behind and whisper in her ear, 'You should wear your hair down more often, Bones.'

She turned her head to the side, so he could see her profile. She was smiling and did not look all that surprised to see him. 'Oh? You like it?'

'Mm,' he said, planting a kiss at the back of her head; her hair smelled of some citric, sharp substance, like a freshly opened bottle of sparkling cider; combined with three glasses of beer, inhaling it made him light-headed all over again. He pulled her up against him, delighting in how she went without resistance. She was extremely soft and warm.

A thought suddenly occurred to him—it was quite warm in the bar, as it were, but if they were somewhere colder it would give him more of an excuse to keep her close. 'Hey,' he suggested innocently, 'it's running a bit low on air in here, don't you think?'

'Oh, is that so,' she replied coolly. 'Are you sure it's not just your brain running low on air?'

'I'm a chronic claustrophobic,' he pleaded. 'It's not my fault.'

'I see.' She clasped her hands over his, which were still on her hips. 'All right, let's go outside.'

: : :

Even mid-August, it was still chilly outside at midnight. Susan had left her coat inside and rubbed her shoulders; Draco pulled off the coat he'd borrowed from Tonks' wardrobe and offered it to her.

'Thanks,' she said, and he vaguely noted that had it been Pansy, she would have told him to keep it. 'Wow, it's later than I thought. We should probably head back soon.'

The reasonable part of Draco agreed—Snape would notice the sudden quiet in the house, if he hadn't already. Yet the teenage boy part of him thought a combination of dark and late and alone with a pretty girl were worth risking the wrath of various adult figures, even ones as scary as Snape. He would probably think differently later, but Draco had a bad habit of not thinking ahead.

The cold outside had chased most of the Muggles inside or home, leaving them alone out the front with a single lamppost. After she wriggled into the coat he took her by the shoulders and turned her around. Surprisingly, he didn't even have to instigate this time—the moment she was facing him she tilted her face up, running her hands up over his shoulders and meeting his lips as he tilted his head down, smiling into her mouth.

It lasted a whole blissful thirty seconds.

'Ahaha—no, really, she was—whoa, hello,' Terry said, straightening as he almost ran into them.

Stumbling out the door behind him came Luna, looking very lost and ridiculously happy about it. She stared at the two of them as Susan hid her face in his chest. 'Don't you have a girlfriend?'

Susan pulled away with a start and wiped her mouth quickly. She wouldn't look at him; Draco, glaring, snapped, 'I don't see how  _you_ would know, not having any friends of your own.'

'Oi,' said a voice from the door behind them. Dean had come out behind them. 'Is Harry out here?'

Zacharias came after him, holding Susan's jacket. He handed it to her and she thanked him, returning Draco's without looking at him. 'Weren't he and Nott inside?'

Zacharias shrugged. 'I went to the loo and came back to find you lot all gone,' he said.

'Bloody hell,' Dean muttered. 'It's  _always_ him, isn't it? Come on,' he said to Zacharias, 'help me check the bar again.'

Draco had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, for he had a very good idea where the pair of them had gotten off to. Without Susan's attention it was suddenly very cold outside and his warm bed at Headquarters was suddenly a tempting thought. 'Stay with the car,' Draco told Terry, 'in case that idiot comes looking for us.' Terry nodded. Susan was talking in a low voice to Luna, who appeared to be listening intently; Draco scowled and stalked away, cutting the corner and entered the thin alleyway between the bar and the building next door.

He'd been walking down it for not even a minute before he saw them, and mentally cursed himself for being right.

It took a moment to figure out that what he saw was not quite what he had expected. It  _was_ Potter and Theodore, for sure, and they  _were_ together—in more ways than he wanted to think about—but instead of facing each other, Potter was leaning heavily on the wall with his forearm, resting his forehead in the crook of his elbow and hiding his eyes from view. Theodore was quite literally at his back, hands tethered to his hips and teeth at his shoulder, scraping down his shoulder blade over the thin fabric of Potter's t-shirt. Potter's mouth, visible just below his elbow, was parted and breathing hard.

Before any words managed to leave his mouth, they all froze: all at the same time, they felt the cold.

Every light in the alley and the street lamp behind them went out. A bone-chilling wind ripped through the alley, stealing the breath right out of his lungs and causing his blood to run cold. A deep, irregular rattling, a sound reminiscent of a shuddering chain, echoed from the invisible darkness of the alleyway, scratching the brick walls of the pub like sharp nails on a blackboard.

Potter, of course, reacted first; he shoved away from the wall and Theodore stumbled backwards, and all Draco could remember was a high-pitched buzzing in his ears, and the image of a golden ring spinning to a dull, thudding stop on a bare floor—he clutched at his head and his knees hit the hard, wet concrete and someone was screaming— _he_  was screaming, Potter was shouting, and Theodore made a deep, guttural sound that reverberated off the walls of the alley and the inside of Draco's skull as they came into view.

There were two of them, gliding out of the darkness of the alleyway, slimy hands outstretched. Potter wheeled and withdrew his wand in one movement, and even though the roaring in Draco's head was too loud for him to hear the incantation, he saw Potter's lips move, and the burst of silver from the tip of his wand. There was more silver, coming from behind them, shapes Draco didn't recognise—two other Patronuses, minute in comparison to Potter's stag, but just as powerful—the Dementors shrieked and collapsed backwards into the darkness.

Draco gave an unsteady lurch and retched, spitting every ounce of alcohol he'd consumed over the cold, cracked stone of the pavement.

He distantly heard Theodore's voice, ragged and aggressive. 'I'm fine—get  _off_ , Potter.'

Draco coughed, one hand holding him up and the other clutching his stomach. Someone grabbed him roughly by the shoulders and dragged him upwards; he pulled away but Potter was stronger, wrenching him to his feet despite the nausea.

'Get  _up_ , Malfoy. We need to leave.  _Now_.'

Draco stumbled upwards and the lights came back on, temporarily blinding him. Potter made sure he wasn't going to fall over before helping Theodore to his feet, despite the protesting—Draco blinked as his eyes adjusted to the light again, and saw Potter staring at Theodore, looking whiter than he had in the face of the Dementors.

Draco looked at Theodore and felt the cold grip his stomach again; Theodore's dark brown eyes had gone a bright, metallic gold, pupils heavily dilated and he appeared unable to focus on anything. It was the same distant sort of hunger they had seen in textbook pictures in  _Defence Against the Dark Arts_ —the eyes of a wolf.

Draco sobered up so quickly he nearly retched again. 'Now,' he agreed thickly.

: : :


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter Sixteen**

_'I can't lie, but the truth is so extreme.'_  
\- Johnny Clegg

: : :

The atmosphere inside the house was, if possible, even more foreboding than it was out. Draco and Potter had sat in the back on the return trip, Theodore wedged solidly between them. He was unnaturally quiet but, thankfully, did not protest the excess manhandling—though he had a wild, delirious look about him, eyes still golden and bright in the darkness. Draco thought that perhaps the idea Theodore, someone he considered a fellow, even a friend, was something as dangerous and hideous as a werewolf had not yet been fully appreciated.

Any hope they had of sneaking back to their respective rooms unnoticed was quickly dashed upon stepping inside the front door. Every lamp was ablaze, causing the blood-red colour of the walls and carpet to saturate every space in the hall. As the front door clicked closed behind them, a horribly cold and furious voice rang out from the living room.

'In here,' Snape snarled. ' _All_ of you.'

Glancing nervously at one another, they all did as they were told, though each one trying to walk more slowly than the next, as to not have to enter first. Unsurprisingly, this left Potter in the lead, for he seemed to be the only one prepared to face the wrath within. Draco kept one arm latched onto Theodore's elbow and held him back, hoping his precarious state would pass unnoticed. Inside the living room, Snape was seated in the large chair by the fireplace. Lupin, McGonagall, and a young man with fair skin and hair Draco did not know were seated on the sofa across from them.

'I do believe my explicit instructions to you,' Snape began in an unnervingly calm, curious voice, 'were to remain in Headquarters, no matter what the circumstances.' He stood off the chair and gazed down his long, crooked nose at them all. 'Perhaps you, Mr Potter, would like to explain to the Order why you felt it necessary to endanger the lives of the other children.'

Draco waited for the defensive 'It wasn't just Harry's idea!' that was surely to come from Granger or the assorted Weasley, and Snape even paused as if to allow it, but the protest never came. Then Draco realised that not only was there no Granger or Weasley amongst them, but aside from Loony and Theodore, none of them were particular fond of Potter in any way. And Theodore, possessive as he might be, did not dare risk the anger of his Head of House for anyone—like Draco, he knew better.

Potter seemed unaffected by the lack of support. He looked Snape straight in the eye, like a fool. 'Actually, Professor, I believe your exact instructions were to "remove" myself.'

Draco winced. Theodore suppressed a noise that sounded suspiciously like a snigger.

'Do not quote me out of context, Potter.' Snape glared coldly at the rest of the group. 'As for the rest of you—while I do in fact know Potter holds responsibility for the instigation of this little expedition, I am stunned that so many of you possess the sufficient stupidity to follow him. Including,' he continued slowly, his dark eyes resting on Draco, who swallowed, 'some of my own students.'

'Be that as it may, Professor Snape,' Lupin interjected quietly, 'each is as guilty as the next, for no one held wands at their backs and forced them out the door.'

'Remus is quite right, Severus,' McGonagall agreed. 'All of you should be extremely ashamed of yourselves. The Order has offered you protection, sanctuary, for you and your families—and this is how you repay them?'

The guilt, surprisingly, worked on most of them—Susan, Dean, Luna, even  _Zacharias_ were hanging their heads, looking guiltily at the floor as if praying for it to swallow them up. Draco had to withhold the urge to roll his eyes.

'We've been cooped up  _all summer,_ ' Potter protested. 'I'm not a bloody kid, I don't need an escort everywhere—'

'Harry, do you have any idea how lucky you are to have made it back here untouched?' Lupin snapped, a sudden fury lining his voice. 'To think, what could have happened, had you been attacked—'

The sudden intake of breath from them all stopped him mid-sentence, and he glared accusingly at Potter.

'Harry...'

'Two Dementors,' Potter said quietly, his head joining the many already hanging. 'But it's all right, we fought them off—'

'Well, then, if you fought them off it must be all right,' Snape said scathingly. 'It wouldn't mean the Dark Lord now not only has an accurate idea of which students we're hiding, but gives him almost an _exact location_  to Headquarters—'

'At least they're unharmed,' the stranger pointed out, and Draco felt a rushing gratitude for the man for heading Snape off before he had gotten to berating his own students.

McGonagall nodded in agreement. 'Disciplining is in order, but it's already well after midnight, it can wait until morning; however, I do need to alert Dumbledore that the children have been found. He will need to know that they were discovered by one of You-Know-Who's patrols.' She stood, straightening her robes and looking at Lupin and Snape. 'I trust the two of you to handle the punishment,' she added, and at the look of horror on Potter's face, continued with, ' _fairly_ , Severus. Good night to you.'

Potter was glaring at Snape, so he did not notice the stranger's eyes lingering on him—or perhaps, on his scar. Draco briefly wondered if he would be introduced, but as McGonagall reached the door to the hall she turned around and called, 'Are you coming, Adolf?'

'Yes, of course,' the stranger replied apologetically, eyes flickering quickly away from Potter as Potter's attention turned to him. Perhaps it was the stranger's name right before, but when he spoke Draco caught the hint of a Dutch accent. Before he could get a proper look at the man, however, he vanished in a swish of his long cloak along with McGonagall.

'To bed, all of you,' Snape snapped immediately. 'Except for you,' he added, glaring at Potter.

Draco was eternally grateful for the dismissal, as his shoulder was beginning to ache with the effort of holding Theodore upright. He pushed him off, trusting that since both legs seemed to be working Theodore could stand on his own. Draco did not anticipate the disagreement Theodore's balance had with gravity and barely managed to grab him before he dropped.

The motion, unfortunately, did not go unnoticed.

'What's wrong?' Lupin demanded, eyes snapping to Theodore and interrupting Snape's long, condescending lecture to Potter. The other students, sensing trouble, hurried even faster out of the room and up the stairs as Lupin moved through them. He took Theodore by the shoulders, tilting his head down to get a better look at him. 'Theodore?'

'He's been a bit off, sir,' Draco said quickly. 'Ever since the Dementors—'

Lupin ignored him and forced Theodore's head up by his chin, immediately narrowing his eyes. 'Where were you?' he asked, looking at Draco. 'Where did you go?'

Caught off guard, Draco answered with the truth, 'A Muggle pub.'

Theodore jerked away from Lupin's grip, which had tightened, snarling. Lupin tightened his grip again and slammed him against the nearest wall so fast that Draco nearly fell over backwards.

Theodore clawed at the hand on his throat, golden eyes wide and furious. Lupin held him still at arm's length, looking—if possible—even angrier.

' _Idiots_ ,' he snapped, his uncharacteristic temper gathering worried gazes from both Draco and Potter. 'Do you have any idea what alcohol does to a werewolf? What  _any_ psychotropic substance will? It doesn't have to be a full moon for him to be dangerous!'

Theodore snarled again, fingers clawing at Lupin's forearms, nails leaving red, aggravated marks in their wake. If Lupin felt the pain, he did a superb job of ignoring it.

'Severus,' he said quietly.

Snape heaved a great sigh, looking very annoyed. 'Are you sure that is necessary?'

'If anyone is to get sound sleep tonight,' Lupin snapped in reply, his eyes darting to Snape and glaring hard. 'Or shall I retrieve it myself, while  _you_ hold him?'

Narrowing his eyes Snape stood, leaving Draco and Potter both wide-eyed in stupor at the exchange. Draco began to edge towards the door, not sure he wanted to be around when Snape returned, lest his professor decided to retaliate with his wand.

Lupin, however, cut off his escape; 'Harry, Draco, I need you both—Harry, clear off the coffee table, Draco, help me with him—don't worry, I've got his head, get his legs.'

Draco stared at him. 'What are you going to do?'

'What is necessary,' Lupin said shortly, glaring at him. 'Perhaps next time you feel like acting irresponsibly, you will think carefully of the consequences. Get his legs.'

Theodore was a lot stronger than he looked, and this was true even considering Draco  _had_ seen beneath his robes. Draco could barely restrain one leg on the table, much less both—Potter ended up having to take the other, and Lupin straddled Theodore's chest, pinning his armpits down with his knees and one hand still firmly fixed on his neck right before the jaw. By the time Snape returned they had managed to hold him reasonably still; Snape was carrying a small, thin vial and a syringe, which he stuck in the vial and slowly extracted a light-coloured substance. As he titled the filled syringe up and tapped it once, twice, and a third time, Draco caught the quick, metallic gleam in the light.

'What are you doing?' he demanded, releasing Theodore's leg, which began to kick immediately, catching Potter in the chest. 'You're going to kill him!'

Potter took another kick. 'Ow! Fuck, Malfoy!'

'Language, Potter. And we are not going to be killing anyone, Mr Malfoy,' Snape said smoothly as Lupin and Potter struggled to hold Theodore down, Potter sitting on his knees and strangling his ankles with both hands. Draco wavered uncertainly between the sofa and the table, unsure.

'It's all right, Draco,' Lupin assured him, much of the anger already gone from his voice. 'It's very diluted, there's barely half a Sickle's worth of silver in there.'

'But why—'

'It's safer than waiting for the alcohol to leave his system,' Lupin continued. 'Harry, make sure you hold that leg still. Severus, just below the—'

'I know what I am doing, thank you,' Snape snapped. 'If you recall, I've had plenty of experience with this.'

Lupin's lips pressed into a thin line, but he quickly turned his attention instead to Theodore, whose eyes were still wild and furious. 'I'm afraid,' Lupin said apologetically, 'this is going to hurt quite a bit.'

Draco watched in horror as Snape approached the legs Potter held down, seized one and yanked up the trouser leg to expose the ankle, and sunk the needle into the soft skin just below the bone.

Theodore screamed—a horrible, ragged, enraged sound which penetrated every crevice in the old house. Draco and Potter both winced, at the noise and in sympathy, while Lupin used every angle of advantage he could to hold Theodore in place. It was over fast; Snape removed the syringe as quickly, jerking away as Theodore hissed and his leg gave a particularly nasty thrash, nearly upsetting Potter.

'Ow! Christ,' Potter snapped, slamming the ankle back down with both hands as Theodore went suddenly rigid. 'Why'd you stick him  _there_ of all places?'

'Far as possible from the heart and brain,' Lupin explained. 'Just a precaution; makes it easier on him, as well, if the solutions diluted into the blood before it reaches the heart—you may want to fetch that basin, Draco.'

Draco had no sooner summoned the basin from the far side of the room than Lupin stood up and pushed Potter aside. Theodore immediately rolled off the table and collapsed over the basin and was violently sick into it.

'He'll be all right,' Lupin said over the noise at the look of horror on the other boys' faces. 'Couple of hours or so, and a good night's rest.'

'Perhaps it would be in best interest that the boy is... restrained, for the night,' Snape suggested icily, his eyes lingering over Theodore's shaking shoulders with distaste.

'That won't be necessary,' Lupin said, with an unanticipated amount of ferocity. 'Harry, Draco, help him upstairs to your room.'

' _Their_ room.' Draco muttered the correction, giving Potter a meaningful look which went ignored. Theodore had finished vomiting and Potter was helping him to his feet, despite Theodore telling him to piss off.

'Your room, now,' Lupin said, raising his eyebrows. 'We've had a few more students join us in your absence,' he added quickly. 'We had to move the three of you into the same room, since you two are the only ones comfortable around Theodore now that he's... well, yes. Your things have already been taken up.'

Draco stared at him in disbelief, the outrage clear in his voice as he spoke. 'You  _what_?'

'Make sure he sleeps,' Lupin said to Potter, ignoring Draco. 'You and I,' he said, looking up at Snape, who sneered in returned, 'need to have a word. Goodnight, boys.'

: : :

'Bloody Christ in a dinghy, it feels like my blood's on fire.'

Theodore's sarcasm seemed the only thing to go unaffected by the silver solution currently coursing through his veins. The feeble light of the half-moon coming through the window made him appear colourless and skeletal, and Potter had been sitting on the foot of his bed looking lost for the better part of the hour since they'd come upstairs—by the time they'd dragged Theodore up to the room his eyes had faded back to normal and he was sick again in the hall, gagging hard until he was coughing up nothing but clear saliva and acid. Since then, he'd been cursing every deity that came to mind, both Muggle and Wizard alike.

'Go to bed, Potter,' Theodore snapped. It was the fifth time he'd given the order, and the fifth time Potter ignored it, staring resolutely at the floor. Theodore made to give him a shove but stopped mid-way through the sudden movement, the muscles in his arm seizing up.

Both Draco and Potter reacted to steady him, and Theodore yanked his arm away angrily, snarling. 'I preferred you both trying to kill one another,' he muttered. 'I'm a monster, not a bloody cripple.  _Piss off.'_

Draco narrowed his eyes but obliged, annoyed at Potter for being there at all, and even more so at himself for bothering. He retreated to the other bed and ignoring the makeshift cot in the other corner. He didn't care  _whose_ room it was; he had never slept on anything less than a cushioned surface in his life and certainly wasn't going to start on Potter's account.

Potter finally stood up, moving past the bed Theodore laid on, hesitating at the head. He started to move again when Theodore's hand shot out and grabbed his elbow, halting him. Wordlessly, Potter used his free hand to remove his cloak and kicked off his shoes before climbing into the bed with Theodore.

Draco's stomach twisted in on itself and he rolled over, so he was facing the wall. He could hear rustling from behind in the other bed as Potter crawled under the covers, and then the room fell silent as the three of them lay still.

Long after Theodore and Potter's breathing came in a synced, shallow pattern Draco laid awake, staring at the dark wood of the wall beside his bed. It wasn't even the fact that it was two blokeslying together that kept him wide-awake, and though he tried to convince himself that it was, lying to oneself was a rather futile exercise, even for one so practised at lying as him.

It was cold on his side of the room despite the thick layer of covers laid over him. With nothing but the darkness for company, Draco pulled the duvet up over his head and waited for dawn.

: : :


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter Seventeen**

_'That's what learning is. You suddenly understand something  
you've understood all your life, but in a new way.'_  
\- Doris Lessing

: : :

The moment the sun had peeked over the horizon and doused the room in it's rays, Draco had rolled out of bed. Theodore lifted his head at the noise, his hair mussed and eyes squinting against the light.

'Malfoy?'

'Shower,' Draco muttered quickly, averting his eyes from the equally mussed head of hair resting on the pillow by Theodore's shoulder. He grabbed his clothes to take with, throwing on a robe and disembarking the room quickly, before Theodore could ask him anything else. He was sure he heard a snicker as he closed the door, and scowled.

Going straight from his shower to the kitchen, Draco found himself alone in the basement, it being far too early in the morning for anyone else to be stirring. Grateful, Draco fixed himself tea and toast and had just sat down at the table with Lupin entered, looking just as tired as Draco felt.

'Good morning,' he said, and Draco grumbled a greeting in reply through his breakfast. Lupin didn't seem to mind. He poured himself a cup from the kettle Draco had heated. 'How is he?'

Draco shrugged. 'Why don't you ask Potter?' he muttered.

Lupin looked up and raised an eyebrow. 'Everything all right, Draco?'

Draco looked up at him, and suddenly wished he hadn't said anything. Lupin was watching him curiously, the corner of his mouth just slightly slanted upwards, and it was then Draco realised he already _knew_.

'Dandy,' Draco replied, rolling his eyes.

Lupin chuckled and stirred his tea thoughtfully. Draco scowled at him. 'Does it bother you?'

'No,' Draco replied automatically. 'Well. Yes. Of course it fucking does. He's my  _friend_!' Draco snapped indignantly. Well, it was sort of true. 'He's in my House! That's bad enough as it is— _and_  he's a werewolf! It's not right!'

Lupin raised the other eyebrow. 'Because he's your friend, or because he's a werewolf?'

'Both!' Draco snapped, only then realising he was talking to the only  _other_ werewolf he knew. 'Er. I didn't mean—'

'It's fine,' Lupin said, waving his hand dismissively. 'I'm more than used to it.'

'Sorry,' Draco mumbled anyway, remembering the bright look on Tonks' face as she'd declared her feelings for his old Professor. 'And  _Potter_ —he's—well—a Gryffindor!'

Getting all of this frustration out—finally—may have actually helped Draco's nerves, had Lupin not started laughing at this point. Draco glared at him.

'Sorry,' Lupin began, covering his mouth with the back of his hand until he'd managed to contain his amusement behind a smile. 'Let me get this straight—it bothers you because Theodore is not only your friend, but a fellow Slytherin—not to mention a werewolf—and because Harry is  _Harry_ , but even more so because he's also a Gryffindor?'

'Yes!' Draco snapped in outrage. How could anyone  _not_ see a problem there? It was as clear as day! ' _What is so bloody funny?_ '

'Sorry,' Lupin echoed, struggling to quiet himself and smirking. 'Calm down. It's just—honestly, Draco,' Draco stared at him. 'I mean, just who—and what—they are?'

'What do you mean, "just"?' Draco demanded, still staring. 'What  _else_ is there?'

'The fact that they're both boys?' Lupin suggested, pensively sipping his tea.

Draco blinked. 'Oh. Er.' Having been preoccupied with the other aforementioned facts, he'd sort of glazed right over that detail. 'I don't,' he started, faltering. His teenage imagination was running away with the information, and he shook his head to clear it. 'I don't know much about it. It doesn't matter. Does it?'

'It does to some people,' Lupin said, putting down his cup. He stood and returned it to the basin as he continued talking, his back to Draco. 'Just like it matters to some people that I'm a werewolf, or that Hermione is a Muggleborn. If you take my meaning.'

Draco didn't say so, but the clarity in that statement was extremely unnerving. 'It's not right,' Draco repeated, glaring at the table top. 'It's just— _not right_.'

Lupin poured himself another cup of tea. 'According to whom?'

: : :

It was midday before Draco worked up enough courage to go back into that room. Well, perhaps it had less to do with courage and more willingness to face the lesser of two evils, for just as the grandfather clock in the hall struck noon, Draco heard the door to the master bedroom upstairs slam open. Deciding that being crammed in a room with Theodore and Potter was much safer than being confronted with his Housemaster, Draco dashed up the two flights and into the room before Snape had the chance to descend on him.

Theodore and Potter both looked up as he slammed the door closed behind him, leaning against it and panting. 'All right there, Malfoy?' Potter asked, eyebrows raised. Draco was about to tell him where he could shove his concern when he opened his eyes and the scene before him stopped him short.

The two of them sat on the floor, Potter cross-legged and Theodore sprawled carelessly beside him, chin perched on his shoulder. Strewn around them was what looked like several disembowelled books, a couple of open ink bottles and a wing's worth of quills. Potter had black ink smudged against the side of his nose and on his chin, and Theodore had piece of torn parchment stuck in his hair.

'What the hell are you doing?' Draco demanded.

Potter scowled at him but didn't answer. Crossing out something with his quill, he rubbed at his nose again, spreading the black stain there further across his cheekbone.

'Studying, what's it look like,' Theodore said casually, glancing up at him once more before looking back over Potter's shoulder. 'No, _that's_  right,  _that_ one's wrong,' he said, pointing.

Scowling further, Potter scratched out the line beneath and scribbled something else down. 'I still don't understand how we got to this from that.'

'That's because you didn't take Arithmancy, twit,' Theodore told him affectionately. 'Which is like trying to take Transfiguration without Charms: idiotic. You can learn to  _do_ them independently, but you _need_ one to understand the other. No, you've got it wrong again—you need enough fluxweed to balance the monkshood solution, or you're just going to end up poisoning whoever drinks it, werewolf or not. Three grams to the millilitre, Potter.'

Draco pushed himself off the door and went to stand over them, squatting down to get a better look at the parchment all over the floor. He looked up at them in disbelief. 'You're trying to learn to make the Wolfsbane Potion? Are you mad?'

'Not trying to make it,' Potter corrected him, glancing up only briefly. 'You're in the light, bugger off.'

'Trying to  _improve_ it,' Theodore explained at Draco's look of confusion. 'He's actually not half bad at Potions, if you ignore the fact that he can't do arithmetic to save his life.'

Potter elbowed him but didn't look up again; he was making a long list in minute short-hand that was impossible to read upside-down. 'How much silver do you think you could take?'

Theodore made a face, likely remembering the effects of last night. 'Dunno. Should probably ask the other wolf.'

Potter nodded and made a note. Draco was still trying to get over what he was seeing: not only were the two of them sitting entwined on the floor, but they were doing  _homework_ together. Not even homework! Independent study, apparently! It was so utterly ridiculous that he almost burst out laughing.

'You all right?' Theodore asked.

That snapped Draco out of it. 'What?'

'You looked like you were going to have some sort of fit.'

'What would happen if we used ginger roots instead?' Potter asked. 'We can't use scarab beetles with the belladonna, but the armadillo bile might work...'

'You want to add Wit-Sharpening Potion to it?' Draco asked, catching the ingredients and putting them together. 'You're crazy; the reaction of silver solution and ginger would kill anything that ate it; you'd probably cause a werewolf to bloody combust.'

'What do  _you_ suggest, then?' Potter snapped, glaring at him.

'How the hell should I know? I don't even know what you're trying to do!'

'We're trying to improve it, I told you,' Theodore said simply. 'Wolfsbane Potion prevents the dementia and aggravated aggression in werewolves, but it still leaves them as dangerous as any  _normal_ wolf.'

'And you're trying to make them what, harmless?' Draco asked in disbelief.

' _Aware_ , actually,' Potter corrected him, eyes still on the parchment he was scribbling corrections on. He spared Draco a glance. 'Think how useful a werewolf on our side would be if once a month he turned into a wolf and could not only remember who he was, but be in control of himself?'

Draco blinked. 'You mean an involuntary Animagus?'

'Something like that,' Theodore said wryly. ' _You're_  Vector's prodigy, Malfoy—why don't you have a look at it?'

'Vector's?' Potter asked, looking up.

'Miss  _Magdalena Vector_ ,' Theodore said in such a sultry voice that Draco blushed. 'The Arithmancy Professor, twit. I don't know a bloke who hasn't had a wank over  _her_ ,' he added, giving Draco a look, 'present company hardly excluded.'

'Well I haven't,' Potter pointed out, apparently uninterested. Then he paused, glancing sideways at Theodore. 'Have  _you_?'

Theodore met his gaze and smirked. 'Maybe.'

Draco waited, but neither of them seemed keen on looking away, and Draco decided to intervene before he witnessed something he'd rather not. He cleared his throat—loudly.

'Anyway,' Potter said, looking away, 'we don't need his help.'

Theodore frowned, but shrugged. 'All right.'

'I never  _offered_ ,' Draco pointed out sourly.

They ignored him, and set back to work.

: : :

That night, he didn't comment or even turn away as Theodore pulled Potter into bed with him. He actually watched, sideways and wide-eyed, as the two of them settled down in the darkness. Theodore was whispering things Draco couldn't make coherent sense of, so instead he watched Potter's reaction to them. It started with closed eyes and a grin, his back to Theodore's chest, but the more Theodore talked the bigger the grin became, and eventually he opened his eyes halfway and whispered something back. Theodore pulled his shoulder back, rolling Potter onto his back and Theodore holding himself up above him, balanced on one elbow and tracing the fingertips of his other hand over Potter's profile. Theodore stopped his fingers over the soft spot under Potter's jaw and stroked the pulse-point there with his thumb, and waited. It didn't take long—Potter's eyelids fluttered momentarily and a gasp escaped his lips before he reached up and pulled Theodore's head down into a kiss.

It was hypnotising, really, Draco thought a bit idiotically—the slant of their mouths as they came together, noses colliding, lips moulding against one another, the occasional glimpse of a wet tongue flashing between their mouths. Draco had seen plenty of people French-kissing before, but he'd never really paid much attention to it. Even when he was snogging Pansy, he'd never really thought about what he was doing—just sort of opened his mouth and went with whatever felt best.

Theodore suddenly got impatient with the slow, deliberate movements; he growled into Potter's mouth and moved over him, holding him down by the shoulders despite the fact that Potter wasn't fighting him. Potter hissed beneath him and shifted to accumulate the added weight on his chest, gasping as Theodore released his mouth and trailed down his neck with his open mouth. Potter twisted his fists in the sheets and Theodore's hand lifted his t-shirt up, over his chest, holding the hem in a clump at his collarbone. The open mouth moved down to the bare chest, and Potter arched his back and moaned. The sound shot right through Draco, tingling in all the right places and causing him to cringe.

'Shhhh,' Theodore admonished in a whisper, moving his mouth back up to Potter's lips, which were gasping for air. 'Don't want to wake anybody up, do we?'

Potter let out a breathless laugh and kissed him again. Theodore kissed him back, pushing his head down into the pillow—but his eyes, wide open, tilted up and locked eyes with Draco—Draco, who had forgotten that he was staring at them openly, and that werewolves had flawless night vision, and even so could certainly  _hear_ the difference between the pulse of one encased in a deep sleep and one wide-awake and severely aroused.

Draco rolled over quickly, wincing as the bed creaked beneath him. He was willing to bet Potter was too preoccupied to notice—but he could still feel Theodore's eyes on him long after he'd turned away.

: : :

Another sleepless night filled with dreams Draco would rather not acknowledge had left him in a considerably foul mood. He snapped at his fellow Sixth- and Seventh Years and snarled at the younger students that had taken up temporary residence at Headquarters throughout the morning, until rumour seemed to have circulated the house that Malfoy was in a Mood and everyone started avoiding him altogether.

Well,  _almost_ everyone.

'You look a right state,' Zacharias informed him, entering the lounge. 'Need to be careful, with hair like yours; you'll end up grey before you're thirty.'

Draco scowled at him. 'Who asked you?'

Zacharias shrugged. 'Just saying, mate. You really should get out all that aggravation before you end up splitting hairs.'

'Are you volunteering?'

Zacharias smirked. 'I'll hold Potter down for you, if you like.'

 _Theodore would rip you to shreds_ , Draco thought dismally. Then he started to imagine just  _how_ he would work out his aggravation on Potter if he had the chance to do so, and choked.

'You all right?' Zacharias asked. He  _sounded_ concerned, but looked more interested in the way the drapes were fluttering in the afternoon breeze than why Draco was suddenly suffering from an epileptic fit. 'Please don't choke; I don't know the proper spell to fix that, so you'd probably die.'

'Do you  _want_ something?' Draco demanded after successfully surviving his coughing fit.

'Me? With you? Heavens, no,' Zacharias said, waving a hand dismissively. 'But, we got our letters, and nobody else wanted to come within arm's reach of you, so I decided to do you the favour of delivering it.'

He smiled at Draco, as if this is something Draco should have been pleased to hear—that he, Zacharias Smith of the Hufflepuff House, had personally delivered his Hogwarts letter when no one else would.

Draco stared at him. 'Er. Right. Well, where is it?'

Zacharias' smile disappeared; he looked rather crestfallen that Draco did not shower him with 'thank you's and promises of devotion and loyalty. 'Here,' he said airily, tossing it across the room with a sideways flick of his wrist.

Draco caught it and tore it open, using his wand as a letter-opener. It was thicker than his previous letters, but he expected that this being his seventh and final year, they had a lot more specific subjects to cover.

He had not expected a large, embossed badge to come tumbling out and land heavily on his foot.

'Er,' said Draco, staring.

'Hm?' said Zacharias, then followed his gaze to the shiny, silver pin lying on the floor. Then he smirked. 'Oh,' he said, sounding delighted, 'MacMillan is going to be  _pissed_.'

: : :


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter Eighteen**

_'Betcha didn't see that comin!'  
'No, no—that was a real frisbee to the head, that one.'_  
\- Desperate Housewives

: : :

' _You?'_

Everyone was staring at him in disbelief. None moreso than Ernie Macmillan, who probably would have been screaming his head off if he had motor control of his jaw, which had fallen open since Zacharias flounced Draco downstairs and made the announcement. Terry had his hand clamped over his mouth and his cousin was cowering behind him, watching Ernie like he was a madman.

Susie hadn't been in the same room as Draco since the night at the pub and was still locked in her room upstairs. Theodore looked amused; Potter looked positively horrified. Draco was torn between feeling annoyed and extremely smug. Luna, tucked behind the latest edition of _The Quibbler_ , seemed to be the only one who sincerely did not give a damn either way.

'There has to be some sort of mistake.'

Ernie had regained his voice, but Draco cut him off before he could get going. 'That's my name on the parchment, Macmillan.'

'This is insane!' Ernie hissed, glaring at him. 'You weren't even first in our year!'

'No, that was Hermione,' Zacharias pointed out, seeming very proud to deliver the facts. ' _I_  was second.  _You_ were third,' he said, pointing at Macmillian. 'Malfoy was like, tenth, or something.'

'Thanks, Smith,' Draco said darkly.

'So what has he got that I don't?' Ernie demanded over him.

'Great hair,' Zacharias suggested, giving Draco a once-over and smirking.

Potter snorted. 'Not to mention that he's a pompous, snivilling  _git—_ '

'Careful, Potter,' Draco said, smirking. 'I'll start keeping a tally of how many points you've lost and deduct them before you've even had a chance to earn any.'

'Careful, Malfoy,' Potter returned, 'just because you've got that badge doesn't mean I can't kick your teeth in.'

'What do you think, Smith,' Draco interrupted. 'Ten points from Gryffindor per bodily threat?'

'Better make it twenty,' Zacharias advised.

'This is insane!' Ernie hissed again. ' _And_ extremely unfair!'

'Oh, quit whinging,' Theodore snapped. 'Nobody likes you anyway.'

'Nobody likes Malfoy, either,' Potter pointed out.

They all exchanged looks; Draco glared at Theodore, then Smith, who shrugged. 'Prats,' he muttered, rolling his eyes and turning to leave. 'I'm going to bed.'

Behind him, Ernie made a high-pitched noise and there was a sound like someone collapsing in a comatose heap on the sofa. Climbing the stairs, Draco put his hand in his pocket and fingered the badge hiding there. He was just as surprised as the rest of them, honestly, and couldn't imagine what Dumbledore was playing at by making him Head Boy. Draco had had half a mind to return the letter refusing the position, but then pondered that perhaps thats what Dumbledore had expected or wanted him to do.

And then Smith had reminded him that Head Boy and Girl were the only ones aside from teachers who could deduct points—Draco smirked to himself and squeezed the badge in his fist. Perhaps he'd hang on to it—just for a little while.

: : :

'Bugger this.'

Draco raised his eyes from his book. It was the middle of the afternoon of the next day, and Potter and Theodore had succeeded in carpeting every flat surface of the room in bits of parchment and potions ingredients, save for the bed Draco was using. Potter was looking cross and glared purposely at the smoking cauldron before him; Theodore, on the other side of the room, pointed his wand at it and dimmed the fire.

'You want it to simmer, not burn.'

'It  _was_ simmering!'

'No, that was  _boiling_. And at  _that_ temperature, all of the non-toxic solution would evaporate, leaving you with a pot full of poison that could euthanise a dragon.' After a thoughtful pause in which Theodore watched Potter's brow knit together, he added, kindly, 'Twit.'

'Git,' Potter replied automatically. Draco sighed and rolled his eyes.

They had been working on the potion since about midday. They had slept through the entire morning and would have likely continued to if Draco hadn't  _accidentally_ dropped his trunk loudly off his bed, waking them both. Looking exhausted, Potter had rolled immediately out of bed and checked on the brewing potion in the corner; Theodore had promptly pulled the covers back over his head and snoozed for another half an hour before following suit.

'Bugger this,' Potter muttered again, dusting off his hands and standing. 'I'm going to get a drink.'

Theodore yawned and said, 'Grab me one, while you're at it.'

'You want anything?'

It took a moment for Draco to realise Potter was talking to  _him_. He blinked, then stared for a moment; caught so off-guard, he didn't have a snarky reply at hand, so settled for, 'Sure.'

Potter just nodded and disappeared out the door, as if politely asking your rival of seven years running if they wanted a drink was nothing special. Theodore watched him go with a hungry look. Draco quickly buried himself back behind his book.

He was shortly interrupted by Theodore flopping unceremoniously onto his bed, slinging and arm around his shoulders in the process. Draco didn't move, but glared at him sideways. Theodore smirked. 'It really buggers you, doesn't it?'

Draco turned his eyes back to the book. 'No.'

'No?'

'Not in the least,' Draco affirmed, looking at him again. 'Why would I give a damn about anything to do with him?'

Theodore raised his eyebrows, but shrugged. 'If you say so.'

Draco decided a change of subject was in order. 'How's the potion coming?'

'Better, if you'd have a look.'

'I'm not-'

'You  _are_ ,' Theodore corrected him, before he could finish. ' _Far_ better, than either of us. And you know it.'

'Doesn't mean I'll be any help.'

'Couldn't hurt.' Theodore still had his arm draped over Draco's shoulder, and leaned in heavily. 'Come on, Malfoy. It'd take you like ten minutes.'

'I'm reading.'

'You're  _sulking_ ,' Theodore observed, leering lecherously at him, 'because Bones won't let you snog her anymore.'

'I can get a snog anytime I damn well please, thank you.'

Theodore smirked. 'Was that an invitation?'

Draco had just gone pink the moment Potter opened the door, and then gave them both a very cold look. 'Cosy?' he asked curtly.

'Very,' Theodore informed him happily. 'Malfoy just offered me a snog.' (Draco went to box his ear; Theodore ducked to avoid it.) 'But I told him I'm a one-man wolf.'

'Lucky me,' Potter said dryly. With an idle wave of his wand, the glasses wizzed towards them both with an unnecessary amount of velocity.

Draco's nearly upturned all over him as he caught it, glaring at Potter. 'Can hardly say the same for  _you_ , though.'

It was Potter's turn to go pink. 'Shut your mouth,' he said quickly. 'It's none of your business.'

Draco smirked. 'That's never stopped me before.'

'No, but _I_  have,' Potter said, giving him a look.

Theodore grinned and rested his head on Draco's shoulder. 'He's awfully fetching when he's all miffed; we should keep you around more often, Malfoy.'

'Oh, get  _off_ ,' Draco snapped, shoving him by the shoulder. 'I've got other things I'd rather be doing then watch you molesting him.'

'It's not molesting if he likes it,' Theodore pointed out, rolling off the bed. He winked at Potter, who blushed. 'One pat on the head and he rolls over like a puppy.'

Draco looked at Potter just as Potter did the same; involuntarily, their eyes locked, and Potter's blush worsened. Theodore was too busy snickering to notice and Draco, thankful, ducked back behind his book despite the fact that he knew he wasn't absorbing a word of it.

: : :

Draco walked into the basement intent on dinner and instead found himself in the midst of a frenzy.

'Oh well  _done_ , Hermione,' Tonks said, grinning and giving her a hug.

Granger, Weasley, and most of the students staying at Grimmauld Place, aside from Potter and Theodore, were gathered around the table, which was full of empty plates waiting to be filled. Susan was glaring at Granger, who was so beside herself with pride that she didn't even notice when Susan kicked Crookshanks as he attempted to dash by under the table.

Granger squeezed Tonks briefly before letting go and smiled at Weasley, who rolled his eyes and said, 'Well who  _else_ would it be?'

'Well, you should never  _assume_ , Ronald,' Granger reprimanded in a terrible attempt at having some humility. 'There were plenty of other girls that were just as qualified as I was.'

'Uh-huh,' Weasley said, his expression clouding with distaste as he noticed Draco. 'What do  _you_ want, Malfoy?'

Draco, too horrified to react in any dignified manner, just stared dumbly.

Well, of  _course_ it would be her. As Weasley had pointed out, she was the  _obvious_ choice.

 _The obvious choice if you're a sadistic, crooked-nose bastard with a Muggle fixation,_  Draco thought bitterly.

At mention of his name, Granger looked around at him, and Draco suddenly realised that he hadn't read the actual letter that came enclosed with the Head Boy badge yet. The letter would have likely informed him who Head Girl was, and vice versa. Apparently, Granger had yet to break the news to her Housemates.

'Malfoy,' she said evenly. 'Congratulations.'

Draco sneered but did not reply.

Weasley stared at her. 'Why are you congratulating  _him?_ Besides the fact that he's officially the World's Most Annoying Git.'

'Careful, Weasley,' Draco said, smirking. 'Between you and Potter, you'll lose all the points Gryffindor's bound to earn before the term starts.'

Granger closed her eyes and sighed. Weasley blinked at him. 'Whaddya mean, we'll lose points? Prefects can't deduct points—' And then he stopped, and Draco watched with mild satisfaction as it sunk in. Weasely suddenly looked terrified. 'No way,' he said, recoiling slightly with a look of disgust. 'No bloody  _way_.'

Draco withdrew the badge from his pocket and dangled it tauntingly. 'As usual, it sucks to be you, Weasley.'

'But you—but it's  _you_!' Weasley spluttered indignantly, shoving an accusing finger in Draco's direction. 'You! And Hermione!' Weasley, alarmed by his own observing, looked quickly between them both. 'You and him!'

Granger met Draco's gaze, her eyes dauntless. 'Yes, I suppose it is.' She gave Weasley a look; he was staring at her in open-mouthed disbelief. She turned back to Draco. 'I'm sure Dumbledore had an excellent reason for appointing Malfoy; after all, to get through this war in one piece we will all have to learn to work together at some point—'

Draco snort derisively, interrupting her. 'Don't bloody count on it.'

Granger opened her mouth to retort just as the kitchen door opened and Weasley's sister flounced in. She took a quick look around before looking at Draco. 'Where's Harry?'

Draco blinked, wondering why she'd asked  _him_ of all people. 'What the bloody hell do I care, where he is?'

'You're splitting a room, aren't you?' she asked.

'So's Nott,' Draco sneered. 'Why don't you go ask  _him_?'

'Because he's not here?' Ginny sneered right back, taking a seat beside Susan. 'Anyway, what's for—'

'Malfoy's Head Boy!' Ron snapped, unable to contain himself any longer. He was pointing again. 'Dumbledore made  _him_  Head Boy!'

Ginny rolled her eyes. 'I know, Ronald. Hermione already told me.'

'You told  _her_?' Ron asked, turning to Hermione while his face reddened in indignation. 'Why'd you tell her and not  _me_!'

'Obviously, because you receive news so well, Weasley,' Draco said dryly, sliding into the seat between Zacharias and Luna. 'Now if you're done being an idiot, please do close your mouth, some of us would like to keep our appetites.'

'Maybe you should just take your appetite and—'

'Ron,  _please_ ,' Granger cut him off, hands on her hips. 'It's no use even talking to him, let's just eat.'

'Yes,' Tonks said brightly, looking delighted that Granger had things under control. Being the only adult in a room full of teenagers seemed to leave her at a loss of what to do, and the suggestion of supper gave her something to do. 'Molly brought over more than enough for all of you, but I'll need a little help loading the table—'

'Somebody should go get Potter and the wolf,' Zacharias remarked idly, spinning this fork between his fingers. 'I don't want to here their whinging later that they're hungry.'

'Go get them, then,' Draco said, unwilling to climb three flights of stairs when the food was only moments away. Weasley's mother may have made it, but it smelled delicious and food had been predictability sparse at Headquarters since the arrival of so many students—teenage boys ate as much as dragonspawn and twice as quickly; they were practically starving.

'I'll get them,' Ginny volunteered, standing. 'Second floor, right?'

Draco nodded, and she disappeared. He wondered momentarily just  _what_ Potter and Theodore were up to—and what she would find when she got up there... but then Tonks slopped a large bowl of mashed potatoes down on the table in front of him, and all thoughts not regarding food were blissfully forgotten.

Draco had just filled his plate and gone to take the first bite; the fork was actually poised inside of his mouth, the aroma of sweet, hot food filling his mouth and sinuses, when upstairs, he heard a scream.

He put down the fork; everyone was looking up, struck dumb in the unexpected interruption. Then Ginny screamed again, and everyone began moving at once.

Tonks was first up the stairs; Granger and Weasley were close seconds, followed by Luna, Macmillian and the others. Draco looked mournfully down at his food before rolling his eyes and following.

By the time he'd squeezed his way onto the third landing, Draco could hear Ginny's voice clearly coming from the room he, Potter and Theodore shared.

'Harry, stop it! This is mad, completely mad! He's not safe!'

'He's fine, if you lot would just bugger off!'

'I'm not going anywhere until you come out of there!'

'I'm not going anywhere until you all piss off!'

'Harry! Ginny, really!' Tonks voice came from just inside the door. 'Both of you need to calm down. Let's just leave them be, I'll go get Remus and Severus—'

'I'm not leaving him alone with that animal!'

'He's not an animal,' Tonks said quietly, a hard edge that sounded alien to her voice. 'He's still a  _person_ , Ginny. He's just having a hard time making the transition—'

'I can handle it,' Potter's voice came from within the room again. 'Get Lupin, get Snape, I don't care, but he wasn't freaking out until you all came bursting up here—'

'Well, sorry if I wanted to see you, since I hardly do these days, and you never write anymore—'

From the depths of the room, Draco could hear a low snarl cut her off. Everything became so silent he could hear the breathing of everyone in the hall, who were all watching the open doorway warily. Draco crept up between them to peek inside.

Tonks was just inside the door; beside her stood Ginny, arms folded and eyes narrowed. Potter stood between the two beds, feet placed apart and hands slightly spread in a defensive stance. Behind him crouched what looked like a large, hairy dog in the shadows; golden, glittering eyes glowed from between Potter's legs, while slivers of white teeth appeared and disappeared as the wolf panted.

'Idiots,' Draco breathed, realising what they'd done. He looked at Tonks. 'You need to get Snape,  _now_.'

Tonks nodded. She touched Ginny's arm. 'We have to go.'

'I'm not leaving—'

'You must and you will,' Tonks interrupted, circling her hand around Ginny's upper arm and giving it a tug. 'Harry's clearly not in any danger, but  _we_ are. Let's go.'

'She's right, Gin,' Potter said. 'Just go, I'll be fine.'

Ginny just looked at him. Her eyes were still narrowed, but they were pink at the corners and glistening. 'You used to trust me,' she said.

'I still trust you,' Potter assured her. 'And you need to trust me, right now. Please.'

Had not one of his friends been having a rather furry problem in the centre of all this, Draco would have taken advantage of the moment to point out that Potter was a lousy, dirty cheat and Ginny shouldn't trust him as far as she could throw him, which wouldn't have been very far anyway. But then she wouldn't have left the room for  _ages_ , and Theodore didn't seem very pleased about her intrusion, and he currently had very large teeth.

Tonks stopped at the door after she'd led Ginny out. 'Draco, are you—'

'No,' Draco said, without turning around. 'He won't hurt me.'

Tonks hesitated, but eventually nodded and closed the door. Potter collapsed on the bed as the sound of retreating feet echoed down the hall.

'Are you completely off your nut?' Draco demanded, glaring at him. 'What the hell were you thinking, feeding it to him without getting it looked at first?'

'Well, we asked you, and you didn't want to, remember?' Potter snapped back.

'I'm not a fully-qualified wizard though, am I?' Draco ran his hands through his hair and began pacing, his eyes trained on the dark spot by the bed Theodore lie crouched in. 'You know as well as I do that you should have let Snape take a look at it before giving it to anyone! You could have bloody poisoned him, or worse!'

'Well it seems to be working, at least,' Potter pointed out. 'He's not attacked anyone yet!'

'And he's a wolf!' Draco also pointed out, a bit hysterically. 'It's only the half moon, Potter! He's not supposed to be a wolf for another ten days! Don't you know what that means? That means that this is very fucking wrong, and things that are very fucking wrong are usually very fucking impossible to fix!'

'I know!' Potter shouted, wringing his fingers through his own hair. 'We didn't think—it was just a simple solution, just a basic prototype, we didn't think it'd do anything at all—'

'Well that shows how bloody good you are at thinking then, doesn't it?'

A sharp bark interrupted them; the wolf was edging out of the shadows, his ears flat back against his head and fangs bared. Coming into the light, Draco was able to fully appreciate how enormous werewolves were; built like a lion, his shoulder, even while skulking along the floor, reached Draco's hip. His head was the size of a small pony's and his paws were the size of Galleons. The tail was as thick as the brush-end of a broomstick, swaying slightly from side to side as the wolf walked.

He looked from Draco to Harry, but made no move to attack—it was clear the potion was having some of the desired effect, but how much control Theodore had over the wolf Draco didn't know and didn't intend to test. Besides, the potion shouldn't have caused the transformation—not unless something had gone terribly, terribly wrong.

The wolf, apparently pleased they had ceased shouting, sat down on its haunches and raised its ears; he cocked his head at Potter, and started to pant. Draco rolled his eyes.

'Even as a dog, you're a pervert,' he muttered.

Potter started laughing; he was lying across the bed, one arm covering his eyes. It didn't last long—the door behind Draco slammed open so harshly that he leapt to the side, startled, and Theodore attempted to dash under the bed. His shoulders were too massive, however, and he ended up crouching alongside the shadowy underside of the bed.

Draco turned to find Snape standing in the doorway, one palm still outstretched on the open door, his face white with fury.

'You  _idiots_ ,' he snapped. 'What have you done?'

: : :

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _'What's he got that I don't?' - 'Great hair.'_  
>  \- House


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter Nineteen**

_Next week there can't be any crisis. My schedule is already full._  
\- Henry A. Kissinger

: : :

'At least he's all right, Severus,' Lupin pointed out, sitting on the end of Draco's bed. He'd been there since Snape had locked everyone aside from the two of them and the three boys out of the room, Theodore cowering and snarling behind Potter, which had probably been the only thing that kept Snape from throttling him. Draco had stayed uncomfortably perched on the windowsill watching in terrified fascination as Snape interrogated Potter—from a distance—demanding to know what he had fed Theodore, and frequently reminding him what an enormous blockhead he was in the process.

Near an hour into it, when even Snape had wearied from berating Potter and had taken to studying the ingredients list and began making notes, corrections, and trying desperately to concoct an antidote, Theodore had started whimpering. The change was terrible—Potter standing over him looking sick but helpless, they all had to watch as the wolf crumpled to the floor and began keening, twisting and writhing along the floorboards as if in immense pain. The transformation only took a matter of moments, but to Draco it felt like ages, and he eventually had to turn away from the cracking and popping of bones and the squelch of flesh as the werewolf form began to rearrange itself into that of a boy.

When the noise had quieted and Draco looked up, it was just in time to see Theodore, wrapped in a thin quilt, lurch over the edge of the bed and vomit quietly into the corner. Potter stood over him, a hand on the back of his neck, grimacing. Theodore sat back and near collapsed on the bed in a heap, draping himself against Potter's shoulder when the Gryffindor joined him. Even now, he was still panting heavily, eyes glowing golden in the darkness, canines still too unnaturally long.

After a moment, he muttered sourly, 'I told you so.'

'Bite me,' Potter muttered back.

Weakly, but smirking, 'Don't tempt me.'

' _Silence_ ,' Snape snapped, muttering irritably, but Draco detected an air of relief to his voice, similar to that Draco remembered from upon waking to Snape standing over him in the infirmary after the bathroom incident that past May. 'Do you have any idea how serious this idiotic experiment of yours could have been?'

'We were just trying to—' Potter started.

'Kill him?'

'I didn't mean—'

'Do you  _ever_ , Potter?' Snape sneered.

'Look, he's all right, isn't he?' Potter demanded sharply.

Snape wheeled on him, eyes ablaze. 'And you expect me to disregard your foolishness just because  _this_ time it happened not to be lethal?'

Potter stopped with his mouth open, a look of shock on his face; Snape had obviously hit a nerve. Lupin took the pause as an opportunity to intervene. 'He's right, Harry. It  _could_ have ended up a lot worse. He could've very easily hurt you, or Ginny.'

Snape looked as if he'd like to spit. 'I daresay I cannot see how  _that_ would have been unfortunate.'

'However,' Lupin said sternly, 'it seems that at least they got  _some_ of the desired effect out of the potion.'

'Actually,' Theodore interjected hoarsely, 'we got exactly the effect intended, Professor.'

Snape, Lupin and Draco all turned and looked at him. His temple balanced precariously on Potter's shoulder, Theodore was still pale and slick with sweat, but his eyes had dimmed.

'What the devil do you mean?' Snape hissed.

Potter pushed his glasses up further on his nose. 'We, uh, we were trying to make it more controllable. The transformation, I mean, and I figured—'

'Yet completely overlooking the fact that whenever you "figure" something, Potter, that it ends up disastrous?'

'Severus, let him finish,' Lupin said firmly.

Snape pursed his lips, glowering down at Potter, who took a deep breath. 'We were trying to find some way to raise the consciousness of the person during the full moon, but everything we thought of had already been tried. All the books said the wolf's consciousness was too powerful—that no matter how potent a potion the werewolf tried taking beforehand, they would be overwhelmed by it.'

He paused, in which Lupin cleared his breath. 'And, Harry?'

Potter hesitated. Thedore picked up his head and answered for him. 'So we tried a different approach. If we couldn't control the consciousness after the transformation, we tried controlling the transformation itself.'

Snape moved quickly back to the table, snatching the list of ingredients. He scanned it quickly, his eyes widening slightly, as if he suddenly understood. 'Interesting, Nott. Suicidal, but singuarly ingenius. Usually it was only Malfoy that showed any sort of creativity in my classes.'

'It was Potter's idea, actually,' Theodore said, not looking at Snape. 'He's used the Polyjuice potion before, so—'

'Oh,  _has_ he?' Snape said, whirling slowly, causing Potter to cringe.

'Er,' said Theodore, glancing at Potter, then clearing his throat. 'Well, point is, it worked.'

'I don't understand,' Draco said, perplexed. 'This isn't—but he's not transforming into someone else. He's transforming into—a darker part of  _him_ self. Polyjuice potion doesn't work that way.'

'It would, given the correct trigger,' Snape said slowly, rising. He gave Potter an odd look, something torn between surprise and disdain, then quickly back to Theodore. 'Where on earth did you get it?' he demanded.

'Not  _on_ earth, surely,' Theodore said, smirking.

'Well it's not exactly easy to find in the wizarding world,' Potter admitted. 'But Muggles, they've—well, Hermione's parents took a trip to the States a few years ago and brought back souvenirs.'

'One of which happened to be "lunar dust",' Theodore finished smugly. 'Apparently, Muggles'll have brought loads back on their little "space shutes".'

'Shuttles,' Potter corrected automatically.

Theodore rolled his eyes. 'Whatever. Anyway, combined with lunar blossoms,' he made a weak motion with one hand, ' _voilà_.'

'Lunar blossoms?' Draco blurted, standing. He was staring incredulously at Potter. 'That's all it took?'

'They have to be older ones,' Potter said, and shrugged. 'So they've had at least one full moon already. But, yeah, that's all.'

'I still don't see how that'll help us remain conscious during a real transformation,' Lupin pointed out.

'Well, we can't test  _that_ theory until the next full moon, of course,' Theodore told him, 'but the idea is to take it just  _before_ a real transformation. I mean, you can't transform if you've already have, right?'

'That's insane,' Draco said, still disbelieving.

'So's Potter,' Theodore reasoned. 'Seems that sometimes insanity works out okay.'

'Potter,' Snape snapped, breaking the silence. 'Outside.'

Potter immediately began to protest. 'Why?'

'Because I  _told you so_ ,' Snape said snidely. 'Don't worry, I'll be  _right_ out to attend to your needs.'

Potter looked even less enthusiastic to leave now that he realised Snape would be accompanying him, but slowly stood up and exited the room, turning back once at the door to look at Theodore. Once he was out of the room, Snape turned to Lupin. 'Clean him up. And Mr Malfoy, attend to this mess. Mr Potter and I need to have a word.'

Theodore exchanged looks with Draco, who shrugged, just as perplexed as he was. Snape slammed the door on his way out, making Theodore wince as Lupin went to lend him a hand up. 'Come on,' Lupin said encouragingly. 'I can't believe you willingly subjected yourself to that more than what was already necessary.'

'I need to do  _something_ ,' Theodore hissed, groaning as he lurched to his feet. 'My mum and sis are still out there.'

Lupin said nothing, pressing his lips tightly together. Draco swallowed and quickly turned his attention to the shredded mess of the room; he knew he and Lupin were thinking the same thing, the one thing Theodore would absolutely refuse to believe until he had exhausted every other possibility.

'Let's get you dressed first, at least,' Lupin offered.

Theodore grunted. 'Yeah. Right.'

: : :

Draco was expecting a barrage of questions from his schoolmates upon returning to the kitchen the following morning, but the delivery of that year's school books had momentarily distracted everyone from the incident upstairs. None of them were permitted to travel to Diagon Alley so everything had been ordered and delivered by owl, and all of the Weasleys seemed to have departed some time earlier.

'Here you go, Malfoy,' Zacharias said, unloading a stack of books into Draco's arms that made him stagger.

'Bloody hell,' he muttered, wincing and dropping the load on the table. 'Think they required enough this year?'

'What I want to know is how you're paying for all those,' Dean said from across the table. 'Not to mention school this year. Hasn't your daddy disowned you yet?'

Draco opened his mouth to retort, then stopped. Dean, after all, had a point. The family fortune still belonged to his father, and wanted fugitive or not, the goblins at Gringrotts won't turn money over to anyone under any circumstances without express instructions from the current vault owner.

'Not really any of your business, though, is it?' Zacharias responded curtly.

Draco felt oddly gratified by this. He smirked at Smith, who returned it. 'Point, Thomas. So if you'd kindly mind your own.'

Dean rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to sorting his books. Draco glanced at them briefly, sighing. As relieved as he was that he would be finishing school, it seemed utterly pointless since there was a war starting anyway. What good would his NEWTS do him if the Dark Lord had his way?

Potter came trudging down not long after, his hair swept into a zig-zagish catastrophe and dark circles under puffy green eyes. Zacharias made a quiet comment about a brush and a haircut that Potter studiously ignored.

'Are these ours?' he said, yawning heavily. Draco blinked as he realised Potter was talking to him, pointing at two stacks of books on the table.

' _These_ are mine,' Draco said, pulling his books protectively towards him, leaving just the one unclaimed stack on the table.

'But then where are Theodore's?'

Draco shrugged. 'Do I look like his secretary? Ask  _him_.'

Potter frowned, but scooped up the books anyway and trudged back upstairs. Zacharias raised his eyebrows at Draco. 'He looked like ruddy hell. Moreso than usual, I mean.'

'Anybody would after Snape tore them a new one,' Draco answered, summoning a mug of coffee off the counter with his wand. He wasn't entirely sure what Snape had said to Potter, but whatever it was had shaken him thoroughly; when he'd come back into the room the previous night he'd looked like he'd seen a ghost—or, in that particular case, a very angry Snape—and had neglected to say anything for the rest of the night, even going so far as to ignore Theodore's inquires.

'I'm sure he deserved it,' Zacharias said, and Draco silently agreed with him. As interesting as the effects of the potion Potter and Theodore had created was, it was also highly dangerous, especially when considering it in the hands of a desperate, emotional, wolfish boy of seventeen with a grudge and a mission to find his family.

Draco glanced over at Dean, who was talking to Susan over at the sink and helping stack dishes—Terry and the others had already gone back upstairs, leaving the kitchen mostly deserted. He leaned back in his chair and said quietly, so Dean couldn't overhear, 'I don't actually know where the money came from, you know. I didn't even place an order.'

'Dumbledore probably sorted you,' Zacharias suggested.

'No, he can't. One of the binding rules of being Headmaster: while he can play favourites all he pleases, he can't spoil them. Not with galleons, anyway.'

'Snape?'

Draco shook his head. 'He would if he could, I'm sure, but the Dark Lord destroyed what little of his fortune he had left.' Zacharias opened his mouth to suggest another, then seemed to think better of it. Draco gave him a look. 'What?'

'Well, I dunno,' he said, shrugging and looking away. 'I mean, had I thought about it before, I could have lent you the gold. But I didn't. And if it's not Snape or Dumbledore, that only really leaves one person—'

'You have no idea how important it is to your future that you do not finish that sentence,' Draco said scathingly. 'Don't be ridiculous.'

Zacharias obliged him, shrugging as if he really didn't care. 'If you say so, Malfoy.'

: : :

Draco avoided going to the room he shared with Potter and Nott as long as he possibly could, even putting up with Thomas and other assorted Muggleborns in the same room just to pester Smith, whom it seemed was a more of a civilised person than Draco had originally credited him with. But just before midnight, with Dean whinging about having to be up early in time to be at King's Cross in the morning, Draco regretfully took to the stairs and ascended to his room.

He opened the door to find the room dark aside from the light of the moon and stairs cast through the open window. Potter was standing beside the framing, staring out. Draco closed the door behind him and studied the shadows of the bed Potter and Theodore shared.

It was empty.

Theodore was probably just in the bathroom, or something. Maybe stealing something to eat, as he and Potter had been locked up here all day. Or at least, that's what Draco would have assumed, if not for the coldness that suddenly gripped his stomach.

Potter hadn't looked up from the window. 'Potter,' he said, by way of greeting and walking up to him. 'Where's Nott?' Potter kept his eyes to the window. He wasn't wearing his glasses, and their was a dark shadow of a bruise blooming along the side of his neck that Draco hadn't seen until he was just beside him. 'Oi, Potter.'

Potter closed his eyes and inhaled slowly. When he opened them and turned his head to look at Draco, Draco took a full step back in surprise.

After all, he'd never seen Harry Potter cry.

Not crying like Draco had cried when he lost his mother, or when Potter had found him in the bathroom, but a frustrated, helpless flow of tears. Potter still hadn't said anything, nor did he need to, because Draco knew: Theodore was gone.

: : :

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'It's so important to your future that you do not finish that sentence.' - Jurassic Park: The Lost World


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter Twenty**

_Men occasionally stumble over the truth,  
but most of them pick themselves up and hurry on as if nothing had happened._  
\- Winston Churchill

: : :

'Get some sleep, you'll be leaving early for the train in the morning,' Snape told him. Looking over Draco's shoulder, he added, 'And do make sure that  _he_ doesn't go anywhere.'

Draco looked behind him at Potter, who was sitting on the end of his bed, systematically packing his trunk and completely ignoring them both. He hadn't said a word since Draco had found him, but Snape seemed to know what was going on, though he wasn't about to share. When Draco had asked why they weren't looking for Theodore, and for that matter why no one had told Lupin, and where was that man anyway, Snape had told him to shut up and worry about his own arse.

Draco turned back around. 'But Professor—' and stopped when he saw he was facing an empty hallway. Scowling, he slammed the door, condemned to a night of babysitting.

Draco sat on the edge of his bed, facing Potter and staring at him with an intensity that he hoped fully conveyed his irritability. Potter continued to stuff things haphazardly in his trunk. It was quickly becoming a tangled mound of robes, quills and unfortunate books that would never allow the lid to close.

'You know,' Draco began, 'there's a very simple spell that—'

'I can do it myself, thanks,' Potter interrupted.

'Right,' Draco said. 'I can see as much.'

The mound was currently in the process of falling out of the trunk; Potter picked up what had fallen out, shoved it back in, which only made something else fall out. Unfortunately, Potter didn't rise to the bait and Draco was left to sit in the uneasy silence to watch.

In went a book, out went a sock and a quill; in went the sock and quill, out went a jumper; and so on. The process wasn't helped by the fact that Potter would drop half the things he picked up due to the fact that his hands were shaking. It was driving Draco mad. Potter still had to pack his new spell books that had arrived from Diagon Alley and already his trunk was spitting out its contents.

'Oh, will you let me, for Merlin's sake,' Draco snapped, pulling out his wand. 'This is ridiculous.'

Potter reacted in a flash, dropping the jumper in his hand and drawing his own wand so quickly that Draco had missed it all in-between a blink.

'I said I've  _got it_ ,' Potter snarled at him.

'You've gone mad is what you have,' Draco responded sourly, not lowering his wand. It was surprisingly easy to slip back into the nastier, fifteen-year-old version of himself. 'But then you always have been, haven't you, what with—'

'I would shut up if I were you, right the fuck now,' Potter snapped, wand held steady. It was surprising how the extension of power the wand represented removed any unsteadiness in Potter whatsoever. The transformation from confused, adolescent boy to an armed and dangerous wizard was practically seamless.

'Well this is certainly productive,' Draco said after a moment. Wands still drawn on one another neither had yet made a move to surrender. 'Almost as productive as your packing.'

'You just don't get it, do you?' Potter demanded. 'I don't give a damn about the packing. I especially don't give a damn about what  _you_ think about anything. None of it bloody matters.'

'As I said, productive,' Draco muttered, rolling his eyes. 'If none of it matters, then why do you bother at all?'

'Shut up,' Potter snapped again. 'Why do you care what I do, anyway?'

Draco didn't bother to point out that he couldn't rightly shut up  _and_ answer the question. 'I think a lot of people care about what  _you_ do, Potter,' he sneered, hearing his own voice rising with every word. 'In case you've forgotten, we're kind of at war here, and the only hope most wizards have is in some emotionally deranged teenager who doesn't seem to give a damn about anyone else, let alone himself!'

'Well then they shouldn't!' Potter shouted back, rising up from the side of his bed. Draco followed. 'I don't even know why! You all have this chocked-up image of me as a hero or something, and its all bollocks! I can't protect anybody better than anyone else! Look what happened to Cedric, for fucks' sake! Look what happened to your  _mum_!'

This time, it was Potter who missed the movement when he blinked: Draco had moved so quickly that he was hardly aware of where he was going and with what intent before he found himself shoving Potter into the nearest wall, his free hand pressing against Potter's chest and wand at his throat.

'My mother was my own fault, Potter,' he snarled. 'Kindly take blame only when it's due. And I think I speak for the rest of the wizarding world when I say we'd appreciate not suffering genocide because you were feeling too sorry for yourself to do shit about it!'

Potter grit his teeth and shoved the point of his wand into Draco's ribs, hard enough to hurt. 'Is that it, then? I'm not  _self-sacrificing_ enough for you, Malfoy?'

Draco felt the surge of rage fading away the longer he held onto Potter's glare, for no matter how sharply those green eyes could cut into him, they held no conviction. Even now, Potter's mind was elsewhere. Wondering, worrying, infuriated that he could do nothing about it.

Draco knew the feeling. He'd wondered, worried and torn himself apart with his own anger all over the past year. It was the most identifying moment Draco had had with anyone, ever—and with  _Potter_ , of all people.

Potter seemed taken aback by the thoughtful silence and the intense stare Draco had focused on him. Rage and bemusement quickly turned to discomfort. 'Er. Malfoy?'

Draco released him, staring and still trying to catch up with his own thoughts, which were under about as much control as the contents of Potter's trunk lying forgotten on the floor. Potter rubbed the spot on his neck left red by the tip of Draco's wand, and that broke him out of it.

'Stop rubbing it, idiot,' Draco said, grabbing his wrist. Potter immediately tensed, preparing to defend himself, but seemed to force himself to relax when he realised Draco wasn't attacking him. A gentle tap of his wand and Draco righted the red welt he'd left. Potter blinked at him.

'Are you going to let go, now?' Potter asked after a moment. 'I promise not to hit you.'

Draco dropped his wrist, and he raised an eyebrow. 'Ever?'

'For now,' Potter amended. He tried to step back, then realised he was still up against a wall. He cleared his throat and lowered his eyes to the trunk on the floor behind them. 'So, um, you said you knew a spell?'

: : :

It was still inky dark when Draco awoke with a jerk. His heart was pounding while thoughts raced wildly around his head until he realized that it was just the curtains over the open window rustling noisily. Potter was breathing in slow, deep breaths beside him, his back pressing solid and warm against Draco's chest. Instead of panicking, he was just feeling slightly disoriented; he wasn't used to waking up with company, and yet this was the second time since he'd left Hogwarts that he'd woken up in the same bed with Potter.

As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, Draco was able to make out the vague outline of their trunks, piled haphazardly across the room on his own bed. He had a fragmented memory of sitting on the edge of that bed, their collective miscellaneous objects zooming about their heads as Draco attempted to teach Potter how to properly use a packing-charm. After half an hour, Potter had gotten frustrated and given up, probably because he was sick of Draco dissolving into a sniggering fit whenever his socks wiggled feebly against the side of his trunk, unable to tuck themselves in. What had transpired after that—

There was a quiet shuffle by the door. Draco held his breath, realising the real reason why he'd woken so suddenly—someone else was in the room.

Draco's open eyes were mostly hidden by the mass of messy hair in front of him, but he lowered his lids just in case whoever had entered the room was paying close attention. Draco unfurled his fingers and placed them along the ridge of Potter's spine poking out through his t-shirt. When Potter snored on, Draco pressed his fingertips harder; the snore went uneven, and then broke off completely.

Draco placed his mouth were he approximated Potter's ear to be hidden beneath his hair and whispered, 'Listen.'

Potter's back tensed as Draco spoke and his breathing became shallow and erratic. Draco removed his fingers just as a small, red-orange flare spurted to life at the far end of the room. The brief light from the tip of a wand vanished, leaving behind a pulsating, glowing bud in its wake. By the time the figure had stepped close enough for Draco to smell the cigarette, both he and Potter had their fingers clamped around their wands beneath the duvet.

By the glow of the cigarette and the moonlight filtering through the window, Draco could see a vague outline of the intruder: short, lanky figure, probably male. He stopped by Draco's bed first, gave one of the trunks a prod with his wand.

The door opened again, and a moment later he heard Tonks' whispered voice. 'Why aren't they up yet?' Draco heard the door close as she stepped into the room. 'You know, Molly would have  _kittens_ if she caught you smoking inside again.'

Both boys relaxed simultaneously; if Tonks knew this guy, he wasn't the enemy—or at least, not for the time being. The man turned around to face her.

'Malfoy's not in bed,' he said, coming over to Potter's bed. Draco quickly closed his eyes, and assumed Potter had done the same, because then Draco felt a jostle as the man gave the mattress a shove with his boot. 'Nevermind,' he said to Tonks, as she ran over to double-check Draco's empty bed. 'Oi, you two. Get up.'

In the midst of rustling sheets and pajamas, Tonks managed to light a few candles around the room to provide more light. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Draco could see the new man clearly now: the black hair and grey eyes looked strangely familiar. The disdainful look he was wearing was also ringing alarm bells—he'd seen this man somewhere before, he just couldn't put his wand on it.

'Get dressed,' the guy ordered. 'Make it quick.'

'What's going on?' Potter asked through a yawn while tugging on a pair of jeans. 'We don't have to be at King's Cross until eleven. It's not even  _dawn_.'

'Your classmates don't need to be there until eleven,' the man retorted. 'Just get dressed.'

'Who the hell are you, anyway?' Potter snapped.

'Harry, this is Jack,' Tonks said quickly, tossing Draco a fresh pair of clothes to borrow. 'He's part of the Order.'

'Since when?' Potter demanded, shoving on his glasses and eyeing Jack sourly.

'None of your business, specs. Now are you going to finish dressing, or do you need some help?' Jack sneered.

Draco knew  _that_ sneer. ' _McKinnon_?' he asked, squinting.

Jack turned to look at him, smirking. 'Finally joined us, have you? I've no problem with dragging you both out in your knickers, but it'll be a long, cold trip and I really don't want to listen to your whinging. Get  _dressed_.'

'You know him?' Potter asked, looking over at him.

'I was in Slytherin,' Jack supplied before Draco could.

' _Slytherin_?' Potter spat in disbelief.

'"Was" being the operative word.'

'And you're in the  _Order_?'

'So?' Tonks and Draco said together.

Jack smiled. 'Looks like you're out-numbered Potter.' He took a long drag from his cigarette, and then tapped his foot. 'I wasn't kidding, you know. It's  _quite_ nippy this morning.'

Draco frowned and reached for the jacket Tonks had tossed him. It was thin, but leather—enough to keep him warm. Potter continued to viciously tie his trainers while Jack and Tonks unloaded their trunks onto the floor and spelled them to float a few inches off the floor.

'Everyone else is going to meet us there,' Tonks explained while attempting to smooth down Potter's hair while he tied his other shoe. 'You two have to leave early. Dumbledore doesn't want any incidents on the way.'

'I've got to go with a guard again?' Potter asked irritably.

'Yep,' Tonks confirmed. 'Just like fifth year.'

Potter let out a long sigh. 'At least fifth year I got a full night's sleep.'

Tonks smiled and ruffled the hair she just combed before coming over to see how Draco was doing. She leaned down to smooth out the shoulders of the jacket. 'Does it fit alright?'

He stood up and gave it an experimental tug. 'Yeah,' he said, shrugging it back into place. 'Thanks.'

'Looks good on you,' she said, winking. 'Keep it.'

'Sure?'

'Sirius had it sent to me for my fifteenth birthday,' she explained, looking reminiscent. 'And I got to enjoy it for a whole year, and then I grew breasts and it didn't fit any more. Leather doesn't fix so well with magic, so it's just been sitting in my closet because I've been too attached to it to throw it away.'

'I wasn't aware you could send Owl-orders from Azkaban,' Jack commented from the background.

'Shut up,' Tonks responded airily. 'You two about ready? You're gonna have to skip breakfast, I'm afraid. Get your brooms, then. Jack and Moody'll see you safely off.'

'You're not coming?' Draco asked sourly.

'I've gotta help with the others, but I'll see you around, don't worry,' she assured him, planting a kiss on his forehead. Draco recoiled, and she laughed. 'Regular Auror patrols are part of the increased security at Hogwarts.'

'The sun's coming up,' Jack said impatiently. He was waiting by the door, the trunks at his heels. 'If we're any later, Moody's going to throw a fit.'

'When  _isn't_ Moody throwing a fit?' she muttered, rolling her eyes, but quickly ushered both boys towards the door nonetheless. 'And keep it down in the hall; everyone else is still asleep. Safe trip, to the both of you.'

Tonks went back upstairs instead of following them down, where Moody was already waiting and looking impatient. 'Took you lot long enough,' he growled. 'McKinnon, leave their things in the hall, Molly'll send 'em along. And take this,' he added, throwing a silvery cloak at Potter. 'S'my spare, we don't have time to dig yours out. Put it over you both, now.'

Potter threw the Invisibility Cloak over them both, knocking their shoulders together as he scooted close enough that the cloak still touched the floor. Draco grimaced.

'Right,' said Moody, opening the door with a swing of his wand. The sun was just barely peeking out in-between the row of homes across from Headquarters, casting long, soft rectangles of yellow light across the ragged lawn. 'Remember, keep close and quiet, and your wands at ready. Let's go.'

'You heard the nutcase,' Draco drawled, looking sideways. 'Wands out.'

Potter snorted. 'I don't need to have my wand in my hand to have it ready,' he remarked snidely. 'You of all people should know.'

Draco stopped walking halfway down the stairs, nearly tripping Potter and Jack, who was walking behind them both. Potter cursed and glared at him from under the cloak, opening his mouth to say something, but stopped as he saw Draco's eyes clench shut and hand jump to his throat.

'What's wrong?' Jack said, clearly unable to see what was transpiring under the cloak. Moody turned had stopped, probably watching them with his magic eye.

'Er,' Potter said after a moment. 'Sorry, I didn't mean—'

'Don't,' Draco snapped, dropping his hand. He started forward so fast that it nearly took the cloak off Potter, who had to jog to catch up.

Potter gave him a look. 'I  _said_ I was sorry, Malfoy.'

'And I said to  _don't_ ,' Draco bit back.

'Quiet, both of you,' Moody growled. 'It's our job to get you both to the station on-schedule, undetected and in one piece.'

'Yeah,' Jack said from behind, smirking. 'So once you're back at school you two can go back to killing each other. But for now, just shut up and move.'

: : :


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter Twenty-One**

_All of the darkness in the world cannot overcome the light shed by a single flame._  
\- Unknown

: : :

Draco did not have long to think about just what Jack McKinnon was doing with the Order, for at the corner of Grimmauld Place they were met with a familiar face. Apparently unconcerned with the dawn light appearing behind the dark houses around them, Dumbledore had arrived in bright blue wizard robes and a tall hat that drooped off to one side, beard tucked neatly into his belt and eyes twinkling behind his spectacles.

'Good morning,' he greeted cheerily. 'I take it all is in order, Alastor?'

'So far,' Moody grunted. 'Tonks'll have their things taken on the train with the others.'

'We're not taking the train?' Potter blurted loudly, earning a discreet kick from Jack and a hiss from Moody.

'Quiet, boy. Don't ask questions.'

'Not to worry,' Dumbledore said assuringly, 'arrangements have been made.'

Draco was not convinced this was the case as Dumbledore thrust out his wand sharply into the street. A few moments later, with a bang loud enough to wake the entire neighborhood, a purple triple-decker bus blasted to the curbside. The Knight Bus hissed as it halted, sinking several inches as the body of the bus came back in line with gravity and settled. A moment later, the doors rattled open.

A small, slightly hunch-backed man hopped down the steps. He was dressed in shaggy purple robes, with a nameplate on the front displaying 'Wilmer'. Draco supposed this was Stan Shunpike's replacement.

'Mornin', lads,' he said, voice quiet;y cheerful despite his ragged appearance and the disgustingly early hour. His large brown eyes seemed unaffected by the darkness, travelling over the three visible wizards before him. 'Just the three? That'll be—'

'That's the Headmaster,' called the driver from inside, 'just get 'em in, Willy, they're good to go.'

Apparently, arrangements had indeed been made. Draco and Potter shuffled in between Dumbledore and Moody and were led to top floor of the bus, which was deserted. Three large beds filled the tight space and the boys were obliged to take the middle one with Dumbledore, who perched on the edge of the mattress and asked Wilmer to bring them some tea when he was able. Moody and Jack took an end of the floor each, and with a shuddering thrust the bus took off again, leaving the dark gloomy buildings of Grimmauld Place behind.

'Sir,' Potter ventured quietly after the tea had come. 'Are we taking the bus all the way to Hogwarts?'

'Just to Hogsmeade,' Dumbledore replied, offering them each in turn a place full of biscuits, which they devoured quickly.

'Why don't we just Apparate?' Potter asked. 'Or take a Portkey?'

Draco, too, had just wondered this, and looked to Dumbledore for explaination.

'Oh, it's quite simple, I'm afraid. Any sort of direct transport magic like Apparation or Porting can be tapped into quite easily, if one knows what they are doing, and both are easily intercepted if one is determined.' In other words, Draco thought grimly, was Dumbledore suspected that the Ministry or even the Order had spies for the Dark Lord infiltrating any approval they'd need for such a long-range Portkey.

Dumbledore however did not seem to be bothered by this revelation and continued, 'You can take the cloak off for now, if you like. No point in being uncomfortable, we'll be travelling a small while.'

Draco disentangled himself as quickly as he could quite happily; he did not miss the significant smile Dumbledore cast on them as he and Potter sat as far away as physically possible from one another without leaving the bed. 'Tea?' he offered to Draco, who grimaced but took the cup anyway, Dumbledore then turning to Potter and offering another.

Draco nearly upset the hot liquid all over himself as the bus screeched to a stop. Potter tentatively took a sip just as the bus had settled, but before he could get any the bus shot off again and ended up with tea all over his jeans.

'Bit of a hazardous way to travel,' Dumbledore said apologetically, cleaning the mess with a swish of his wand and refilling Potter's cup. 'But I was very pleased to hear you two have managed to come through the summer together relatively unscathed.'

Draco snorted indiscreetly into his cup and Potter made a face, before taking a much quicker sip this time and managing to not spill as the bus tettered to another stop. 'I suppose there's no point in my asking why aren't we taking the train, Professor?'

'I'm sure there is a point, and the point being you desire an answer,' Dumbledore answered smartly. 'It's very simple, Harry. It is no secret to yourselves nor the general public that the two of you are indeed in much greater danger than any other students under my supervision this year, therefore I did not see any reason to complicate matters.'

'In other words, no use endangering more lives than you have to,' Draco added sourly.

'Precisely,' Dumbledore added, 'though not quite the words I would have chosen. I do believe it would be better for all interested parties if I oversaw your trip to Hogwarts.'

Apparently their arrangements did not include a non-stop trip to Scotland; the Knight Bus made an uncountable number of stops during the first few hours, so that by the time the sun was shining through the windows as the high morning approached, the beds had been replaced by pleasant glass tables and wicker chairs with fat, purple cushions. Wilmer brought up a basket of baguettes and some nondescript cheese for lunch, followed by pitchers of pumpkin juice and an assurance that everything was on schedule. He did not seem surprised to find two extra boys upstairs with the three he let on board earlier, but instead hurried back with extra cheese and juice to make sure everyone was comfortable.

No one else seemed to be admitted to the top floor; by eight o'clock, the wizarding rush hour was shared with Muggles after all, he could hear quite a number of muffled voices below in-between the frequent thrusts, bangs, shots and screeches of the bus. However crowded it was downstairs, only Wilmer bothered them with his presence occasionally, refilling their pitchers and tiding their tables when needed. Once or twice Moody stalked down the stairs, probably to make sure there weren't any suspect dark wizards travelling along with them, before clamouring back up and taking a long swig of something from his flask.

It was a very dull morning. Dumbledore attempted to make small talk with Draco and eventually gave up, turning to Potter, who chatted with him for a while about nothing particularly important or interesting before returning to an awkward sort of silence. He and Draco were purposely avoiding one another's gaze, as if the oncoming school year negated all that had pasted that summer. Not that any one would believe the two had been able to survive three months inside a single house, much less shared a room and occasionally a bed—whatever the reasons. The first time they had been sloshed, sure, but the second time...

Draco grimaced, angry that he could even feel embarrassed on Potter's behalf, or even pity him enough that he would do the prat a favour even if it was the only way he'd get a decent night's sleep. It had become apparent quite early into their summer that Potter suffered horrible nightmares, or visions, or whatever he wanted to call them. But they had seemed to have vanished without reason, and Draco had been quite happy to forget they existed, until last night. Apparently the lack of Theodore—or rather Theodore's talent at Occulemency—the nightmares had come back, and resulted in Draco shaking Potter awake at three in the morning lest leading the entire house to believe they were being murdered in their sleep.

Potter seemed quite happy to forget Draco ever crawling into his bed, too—and Draco was happy to oblige just as no one would ever mention Draco crying himself into a disgusting heap in Potter's lap that first night. It was a silent, mutual, perfectly beneficial agreement between the two. They were even. They could kill each other all they wanted when they went back to school, just like Jack said. Anything embarrassing or degrading besides the aforementioned instances was fair game.

There was also that weird part about Potter sleeping with a bloke, but Draco decided that Potter obviously was into bestiality and while it would supply him with a lot of ammo to make his life miserable, the prospect of a Theo-wolf appearing in his bedroom one night to eat him was enough to discourage him from ever acknowledging that he saw anything of the sort.

They were still in London, dashing through Muggle traffic, and the bus made a particularly long stop outside of the Leaky Cauldron, likely emptying the majority of its contents to be let into Diagon Alley before racing off again, leaving the Tower Bridge in its wake. Draco had just decided to grab another slice of bread and cheese when the bus slammed to a stop again, even more violently than usual.

When the bus remained stationary for a full two minutes, Dumbledore stood up. Moody thundered down the stairs as quickly as he could, leaving just Jack and Dumbledore upstairs, both with wands drawn. Potter did not need telling; he grabbed the cloak and Draco stood as he threw the cloak over the both of them.

They waited.

'Alastor?' Dumbledore inquired mildly down the stairs.

'Trouble with the engine, he says,' came the distant growl. 'I don't like it, we're in the middle of nowhere here.'

Draco looked out the windows. On both sides, they were surrounded by tall, ghastly looking brick buildings with boarded up windows. The sun, which had been shining merrily all morning into the afternoon, had been hidden by a blanket of misty, grey clouds and the street outside was eerily silent.

'I think it would be best if we waited outside,' Dumbledore decided, hinting at the boys to follow him as discreetly as they could down the stairs. Jack brought up the rear, silent and eyes cast over his shoulder.

The rest of the passengers had also pooled outside into the street, as there was no pavement to be seen beside the tall brick houses. There was a very fat man in a bursting suit-vest carrying a very large briefcase, talking in urgent, distressed tones to Wilmer, who was assuring him that he would make his meeting on time. Behind him stood two tall, elder witches with matching green robes and velvet Victorian hats laden with large, yellow chrysanthemums, whispering to one another about shoddy mechanical upkeep these days. A wiry old wizard at the back looked quite delighted to be off the bus and was commenting to no one in particular about the shifty weather. A dozen or so others were wrapped tightly up in cloaks, doing their best to wait patiently despite the sudden chill. Dumbledore ushered the invisible boys to the back of the group and left Jack to stand guard while he went to speak with the driver.

It looked more like an alleyway than a street, Draco noticed, looking around. The lack of pavement and doors to the buildings seemed to confirm this, although it was a rather large alleyway—the Knight Bus only took up perhaps half of the cobbled lane.

'How often has the Knight Bus broken down?' Potter asked quietly.

Draco shrugged, as if he'd know, he knew of the bus but had never had to use it before. It was Jack who answered, however. looking uncharacteristically serious: 'Never.'

The sky seemed to grow darker, as if dusk was approaching even thought Draco knew it was only about noon. A fine mist had settled on the alleyway, and even inside Tonks' jacket Draco began to shiver.

He should have seen it coming. Potter had, apparently; he threw off the cloak and shouted ' _Professor_!' just before the first one swept down from the roof of the building beside them, going straight for them. Before Draco could draw his wand despite having no idea what in the world to do with it, a ghostly blur shot between him and Potter, impaling the Dementor with its tusks and tossing it away, screaming. The warthog pawed the ground before turning and returning to Jack, who looked whiter than Draco had ever seen him.

'Just one?' Potter asked. 'But all the mist—'

There was a sudden stillness, and Draco watched it all happen as if it were slow motion: either end of the alleyway grew pitch black, leading off into black holes of coldness, and Dumbledore raised his wand from the front of the bus and out of it burst the shining light of heaven. A great phoenix erupted, ghostly white feathers swirling in the midst of the darkness, beak open in a silent scream that seemed to make the darkness at the far end of the alleyway shudder.

Behind them, Potter had whirled and thrust his own wand forward, summoning the giant stag Draco had seen only twice before, he and could never remember it being quite so huge. It galloped courageously into the black pit of Dementors bearing towards them, throwing them back with a pulse of light that blinded Draco temporarily. The screaming of the Dementors was deafening, drowning out the cries of the frightened passengers.

For a brief moment Draco was able to breathe again, thinking the worst was over. The Patronuses were solid, the Dementors were gone—but they had not come alone. They swooped on above, diving down inbetween the bright spells dashing to and fro trying to fend them off, scaly hands reaching down menacingly as if they meant to pick them all up and carry them off. That was when the first curse was fired, and missed Moody by inches, shattering a first-floor window of the bus instead in a bright green burst of light.

Draco felt someone grab his jacket by the collar and yank him down. He found himself on the ground, face-to-face with Jack, who followed to grab Potter by the belt and yank him down by the bumper of the bus to use for cover. 'Stay  _down_ ,' he ordered. 'What the hell did you do with the cloak?' Another jet of light, red this time, hit the wall opposite them and sent chunks of brick flying in all directions. 'Oh, fuck, nevermind it,  _move_.'

He was behind them, pushing them along. Potter was in the lead, gripping Draco by the wrist as if he would try to scurry off at first opportunity or possibly to make sure if Draco got blown to smithereens he could steal his jacket.

A hex ricocheted off the wall and slammed into the bus, nearly decapitating Jack, who was forced to fall back. Potter seemed to decided that all hell had broken lose and that, for once, instead of running into it wand ablaze, hiding like a coward would be for the best and slipped under the bus, dragging Draco with him just as another curse slammed into the side of the bus where they had knelt.

Potter was cursing profusely. Draco could hardly hear it over the uproar outside; Dumbledore was clearly waging one side of a war on the Dementors, the blinding light of his Patronus lighting up even the underside of the bus as it flew past. Moody was cackling madly, duelling whoever it was throwing curses at them, and he could see Jack's feet get surrounded by the green robes of the witches with the hats, probably trying to use him as a human shield.

Draco wanted to ask Potter  _What now?_  but didn't get the chance: scaly hands had appeared from the other side of the bus and were reaching for Potter's ankle. Draco made a strangled sort of sound and pointed frantically, and Potter rolled out of the way, smashing into Draco as they both attempted to scoot back out from under the bus.

The word of their location had spread fast, apparently, in every direction, it seemed black cloaks, pit-like mouths and bony fingers were reaching in for them.

'Malfoy,' Potter said, looking from one side to the other, 'can you Apparate?'

Draco stared dubiously at him for a minute, which was impressive considering their current predicament. 'Are you mad, Potter? I haven't even taken my test, I wasn't going to be old enough until this—'

'Then hold on,' Potter interrupted him, grabbing him roughly by the upper arm. For a moment, Draco thought they were doomed: the Dementors had grabbed him, and he could feel himself slowly slipping away...

Then he realised that the Dementor hadn't grabbed him by the gut, and that his stomach was slipping away with Potter, wherever he was taking them. Back to Headquarters, surely, it was the safest place to go—Draco concentrated on Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place as hard as he could, imagining the run-down state of the house, the wilted lawn, the twisted iron snake acting as a knocker... he just wanted to be anywhere but  _here_.

It felt like he and Potter had been squeezed through a straw much too small for two boys who were anything but pleased to be squished together. When Draco stumbled to his feet, feeling distinctly nauseous, he noticed with a horrified glance that the street he planned to be sick on was cobbled, and for a moment thought they hadn't gone anywhere. Then he looked up, and the sickness vanished and was replaced with complete bewilderment.

They weren't at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.

First thing he noticed was that it was sunny again; the light filtered down through yellowing trees that swayed in a gentle breeze, rustling the fallen leaves on the road they had landed on. Potter was still on his backside, looking quite taken aback. 'This isn't Hogsmeade,' he said a bit stupidly.

Any response Draco had was interrupted but a deep, grunting voice that was singing from the ground nearby.

' _When I'm sitting on a windowsill blowing my horn,  
nobody's up except the moon 'n me,  
and a large ol' tomcat on a midnight spree,  
all that you left me was a melody...'  
_  
Sprawled the the bottom of a signpost was a very peculiar looking Muggle. He was dressed shabbily, stains throughout his jeans and shirt, but what took Draco off guard was the gleaming white cowboy hat perched on the dishevelled head, framing large, round glasses that made his eyes look protuberant and a bushy moustache. He was at least ten feet from them, but Draco could already pick up his odour, which made the nausea come rushing back tenfold. He seemed unsurprised by the sudden company, and raised his bottle of cider in greeting.

'No,' Draco said, rubbing his head. 'Definitely not Hogsmeade.'

: : :


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

_'I knew that cleavage was a smoke screen, you're a genius!'_  
\- House, MD

: : :

The Muggle, as it turned out, was named Hugh. He seemed to have decided that Draco and Potter were his new best pals and that he must at once take them for drinks.

'Er, that's very nice of you,' Draco lied horribly, leaning away from his odour as the man drew nearer, 'but I don't drink.'

Potter suffered from a very indiscreet cough which contained a word that sounded very much like 'bullshit' and Draco glared at him over his shoulder.

'Nonsense!' Hugh declared in a determined sort of voice. 'Every lad's fit for a drink this time o' day!'

'It's noon,' Potter pointed out.

'Noon! Already!' Hugh looked at the sky, looking briefly surprised, then frowned. 'Blast! Well, we're off to a late start but we'll have an extra round of cider.'

'Excuse me,' Draco attempted as the man took it upon himself to shove them both forward by the shoulderblades. 'D'you mind telling us where we are?'

Hugh eyed Draco in what might have been suspicion. It may have just been plain bewilderment, but it was hard to tell when his eyes were so bloodshot. 'Don't drink my arse! Yeh sloshed already, m'boy? Well, never too early, s'what I say...'

The important question unanswered, the boys soon found themselves led up a street which was much more populated, with other Muggles wandering too and fro. It was cobbled as well, and small, bordered on both sides by short stone buildings and several people waved in greeting as Hugh and the boys passed. He steered them towards a particular pub called the  _Black Bull_ , a two-story building with large, paned windows and a single chimney coming out of the middle of the roof.

Draco was searching en-route for a chance to escape, but Potter went along easily enough. Draco gave him a this-is-not-the-time-nor-place look which Potter simply rolled his eyes at and ignored, and followed Hugh inside the pub.

Looking up at the sky, Draco prayed to Merlin that he'd live to lose his virginity, and followed the prat inside.

'I'm hoping,' Draco said, as he pulled up a chair at the bar beside Potter, 'that you have a plan that doesn't involve anyone dying.'

'Working on it,' Potter said, quietly, as Hugh ordered them a round. 'But I don't think we should Apparate again.'

'No,' Draco agreed. 'Not unless we're inches from the scaly grasp of Death, anyway.'

After about five minutes of unproductive silence Draco got impatient. 'So, we just... sit around, having drinks while we wait for someone to find us? And hope it's the good guys first?'

'I'll think of something,' Potter assured. 'Hard to think with you yapping, though.'

'Sorry,' Draco said unapologetically. 'I'll keep my brilliant observations to myself, then.'

'You do that,' Potter agreed, and fell silent, which was not something Draco was used to. Not Potter being quiet, but quiet in general—someone was always talking, and it was usually him, but Potter didn't seem much in the mood for listening which would put Draco out for all of his genius would be ignored.

Hugh passed them their drinks and quickly forgot about them after two mugs of cider, and wandered off to play cards at the other end of the pub. Draco managed to catch the bartender as he ambled past, and inquired as to which city they had stumbled into.

The bartender gave him an odd look, and Draco supposed it was a bit of a stupid question, but was pleased when the man answered, 'Haworth, m'boy.'

As the bartender wandered off shaking his head, Draco turned to Potter and said, 'So you were trying to Apparate to Hogsmeade?'

Potter, who had been silent for a long while and not even touched his cider, started. 'Er. Yeah. Why?'

'I was trying to get back to London,' Draco said, swiping Potter's untouched glass. 'We ended up in the middle of York. I'd say that's about halfway, wouldn't you?'

Potter blinked. 'I didn't know it could work like that.'

'Neither did I,' Draco said truthfully. 'Better than ending up in two pieces though, I suppose.' He sighed and took a generous mouthful of his drink. Tiny, backwoods Muggle town that it was, Haworth knew how to make a decent batch of cider at least. 'Any brilliant ideas yet?'

Potter sat back in his chair, sighing. 'No. You?'

'Have another drink?' Draco offered.

'Oh, right, get drunk. That'll get us to Hogwarts in record time.'

'Just imagine how much fun the Feast'd be if we were pissed.'

'I remember last time we were pissed,' Potter said abruptly, then stopped.

Draco hastily put down his cider.

'All right,' he said, going for a change of subject. 'The Order's probably having a kinipshit at the moment, thinking you're dead or at least captured and probably tortured, but still likely running around the country in search. Wouldn't be surprised if they got the Ministry involved at this point...'

'Lovely,' Potter groaned.

'...meanwhile no one'd mind if I ended up dead in a gutter,' Draco added, perhaps a little too dramatically.

Potter smirked. 'Oh, don't be silly, Malfoy,' he said,  _'I'd_  care.'

'Prat.'

Potter opened his mouth to reply, but before he could, a cloaked figure slipped down beside Draco apparently with intent to provoke a seizure by whispering in his ear. 'Boo.'

Draco started, nearly throwing his chair into Potter. Jack snickered.

'The way you two leave a trail behind you, it's a wonder you're still sound,' he said, stealing Draco's mug and draining the rest of it. 'Let's go, shall we? Dumbledore's going to murder one of the Lestrange brothers if he doesn't get word soon that you're both unharmed.'

'The Lestranges?' Potter said, jogging to catch up as Jack led them out the back of the pub and into a small wooded patch of land. The sun was still filtering down through the trees, casting dappled shadows on them as Jack pushed on, leading them into the thickets. 'You mean—'

'Two of the Death Eaters the Ministry rounded up from the attack,' Jack confirmed. 'Rodolphus and Rabastan were both there. Dumbledore was interrogating them when I set off to find you two.'

'He only sent you?' Potter asked, looking surprised.

'He only needed to send me,' Jack said, smirking. 'Why d'you think he keeps me around? You have any idea how hard it is to find a good Tracker?'

'Tracking?' Draco said, genuinely surprised. 'Why're you working for the Order, they don't even pay. The Ministry—'

'—kicked me out of the Academy after two months,' Jack admitted, and looking very proud of himself.

Potter wasn't listening; after looking at their surroundings, he demanded, 'Where are we going?'

'As far as we can get on foot away from that red carpet of spellwork the two of you left behind,' Jack answered. 'The Dark Lord has his own bloodhounds, and they're not to be underestimated.'

'Who?' Draco asked. 'I wasn't aware of any Trackers—'

'What the hell is a Tracker?' Potter interrupted, looking indignant, as if it were Draco's fault he was ignorant.

'How do you think he found us this morning?' Jack asked. 'And remember that time with your cousin, and the unexplainable Dementors? Trackers do just what the name implies: they track—magic.'

'And why I've never heard the term before...'

'How many purebloods do you know, Potter?' Draco asked, then added with a sneer, 'besides Weasleys?'

'You?' he spat, then demanded, 'What's that got to do with it?' and nearly tripping over a tree root in the process

'Only Purebloods can be Trackers,' Draco and Jack answered simultaneously.

Potter snorted. 'Right.'

'No, really,' Jack insisted, seriously. 'Which sucks for you lot, really, since Tracking isn't easy to master, even for Purebloods, and their side has a lot more to choose from.'

'Why can only Purebloods—'

'Nobody really knows,' Jack said, shrugging. 'But half-bloods and Muggleborns have never been able to Sense like Purebloods can.' Potter looked unimpressed, Jack didn't seem to care. 'You can roll your eyes all you like, Potter. Doesn't change the facts.'

Before Potter could retort, Jack raised his arm to the sky and down through the canopy shot a tiny bird, hardly bigger than Pigwidgeon, and landed on his forearm. It wasn't an owl, but in fact looked like a very tiny hawk.

Jack whispered something too it, and with an ear-piercing screech, the bird took off again and rocketed into the sky.

'He'll let Dumbledore know you're both all right,' he said, watching the bird vanish in record time. 'For the moment, anyway,' he added.

'Isn't it dangerous to send messages via Owl?' Potter asked.

'He's not an owl,' Jack told him, giving him a look as if Potter were very stupid and as if he were very speaking slowly for his benefit. 'Anyway, he's not holding any message they can read, and even if they could catch him they won't get anything out of him. Here, I brought this,' he tossed Potter the Invisibility Cloak. 'Keep it on.'

Potter moved towards Draco, but Jack waved him off. 'Not him, just you, for now. We need to move fast and you're the one they're more likely to kill on sight.'

'More likely?' Draco asked, annoyed. 'Well, that makes me feel better.'

'It should,' Jack said, throwing him a look. 'You know your Daddy will do everything in his power to keep you alive.'

'Or that if I'm killed, he's the one to do it,' Draco said, deadpan.

'Well. if we run into him,' Potter said from somewhere to his right, 'you can borrow the cloak.'

: : :

Dumbledore met them in the woods. Fawkes was waiting for them in a thicket, and vanished in a flash of flame, leaving behind a burning, golden feather. Moments later he returned with Dumbledore.

'I thought it was too dangerous to Apparate?' Potter asked, taking off the cloak.

'Phoenixes use their own magic to travel,' Dumbledore said cheerfully, dusting off the ashes from his robes. 'And are much less sloppy about it than the average wizard, if I remember correctly,' he added, looking at Jack.

'Harder to follow, but not impossible,' Jack told him. 'We should get moving.'

'How're we—' Potter began, and stopped as Fawkes fluttered over in a glowing flurry of fiery wings and settled on his shoulder. He cocked his head at Potter, and seemed to smile through his eyes. Potter looked from the phoenix to Dumbledore. 'Sir?'

'It's all right, Harry,' Dumbledore said, 'it was his idea.'

And in a flash of fire and smoke, Potter was gone.

'As for you, Mr Malfoy,' Dumbledore began apologetically, 'I hope you don't mind, but we'll be using a much more mundane form of transportation.'

Draco stared at him, silently damning Potter and his special treatment. Dumbledore opened his cloak and revealed a bundle of brooms. He handed Draco the sleek, auburn one, its finely woven twigs unnervingly familiar to someone who often saw them dash into sight at the last moment to snatch away the Snitch.

'Is this—'

'Harry's Firebolt?' Dumbledore asked mildly. 'Yes. So please treat it with care. Tonks had a bit of trouble trying to remove your broom from your trunk, it nearly took her fingers off.'

'Does he know I'm going to be using his broom?' Draco asked, incredulous, as Dumbledore handed Jack one of the other brooms.

'I may have forgotten to mention it,' Dumbledore said lightly, eyes sparkling. 'Ready?'

Draco mounted his broom, smirking. For the first time that he could remember, Dumbledore's presence wasn't even in the least bit irritating. The breeze tore through his hair as the Firebolt blasted off from the ground like a rocket, handle aimed north.

: : :

The sun held out all the way to Glasgow. The busy lights of the evening became obscured by dangerous looking clouds, thick with darkly coloured bellies threatening to rain them out of the sky. But it didn't rain until they were over Hogsmeade, where it began spitting on them in earnest, and as they flew in over Hogwarts Draco's hair and robes had become soaked.

Hogwarts looked ominous in the stormy surroundings. The stone was dyed black by the sky and rain, the Forbidden Forest and the lake blending into the darkness and the mist that spilled over the school grounds. Behind the great gates Draco could see large, restless shapes, thrashing and roaring in the weather below. They landed quickly, on the front steps outside the Great Hall, and Draco gave his Headmaster an incredulous look.

'Were those—'

'Dragons,' Dumbledore confirmed, nodding. 'Norwegian Ridgebacks, to be precise. Don't worry, they're more of a benefit than a liability, I've been assured.'

Jack was charming his clothes dry, but Dumbledore ignored his wet robes as he waved his wand at the doors, which groaned and clinked and shuddered before swinging inward, revealing the deserted hallway inside.

'I'm afraid the Sorting's already begun, we're a bit late,' Dumbledore informed him as they entered. 'Not to worry, however, you may go in and take a seat with your Housemates. Your things should be waiting in your room, and Miss Granger can bring you up to date on your Head Boy duties.'

Draco stopped walking as these words hit him, and just as Dumbledore went to open the doors to the Great Hall Draco asked abruptly, 'Sir?'

Dumbledore stopped, looking at him over his shoulder. 'I suppose,' he said slowly, turning back around, 'you want to know why I decided to make you Head Boy this year?'

Draco frowned, but nodded.

'It's very simple, Mr Malfoy,' he said, peering at Draco over his half-moon spectacles. 'Because I know I can trust you to make the right decisions.'

Draco watched him open the doors and stride into the middle of the Sorting without a backwards glance. Jack smirked at Draco briefly before following him up the middle isle towards the staff table, admit the many stares of the students and staff. Frowning further, Draco picked up Potter's Firebolt and followed.

Draco Malfoy had had some epic entrances in his lifetime, but this had to trump them all. Fashionably windswept, dressed in a leather jacket and Muggle jeans with his Head Boy badge pinned to his chest, Harry Potter's Firebolt slung casually over his shoulder, he strode into the Hall just as 'Stewart, Ethelred' was Sorted into Hufflepuff.

Draco headed towards the Slytherin table, smiling all thirty-two of his teeth, every eye in the hall watching him. From across the room in the direction of the Gryffindor table, he was pretty sure he heard someone demand, 'Is that my  _broom_?'

McGonagall glared at Potter and, ignoring the question much like Draco, called forth 'Temple, Galen' to be Sorted. The latter half of 'Galen' was drowned out with a shriek, and Draco was nearly tackled by a bob of ebony hair.

'Pansy, darling,' he choked. 'You're making a scene.'

Pansy squeezed her arms tighter around his neck, and he felt sob into his chest, and instantly cringed. McGonagall was glaring daggers at him from across the room and turned to Dumbledore, as if expecting him to reprimand them, but Dumbledore merely smiled.

Pansy released his neck, and Draco managed to pull in a breath before the hiss of 'You bastard!' gave him insufficient warning to brace as the slap hit him, causing him to stagger backwards. And if his current situation wasn't embarrassing enough already, Pansy pulled another three-sixty on him and grabbed him by the collar and kissed him full on the lips.

'Miss Parkinson,' McGonagall called in threatening tones. 'Are you  _quite_ finished?'

Draco's first instinct was to pull away, but found himself leaning in quite happily until Pansy pulled away, looking pleased, utterly furious, flustered and relieved all at once.

Women were strange.

She turned around to address McGonagall, suddenly composed with a brilliant smile. 'Quite, Professor, thank you.'

Draco followed her back to the table in a sort of awe, both glowing and terrified if he should be expecting another bodily assault and whether or not he'd enjoy it.

The Slytherin table was deserted. Temple, Galen brought the grand total up to eleven students, including Draco, and two others were newly-sorted First Years. Pansy put a knowing hand on his shoulder and led him to a seat beside her, silent.

Eleven students. Three of them new. The Ravenclaw table wasn't much better off; maybe two dozen students were scattered at the enormous table, looking crestfallen.

Blaise had come back, surprisingly enough, but that was it for the Seventh Years. Even Greengrass hadn't returned, and her family had always been neutral. Blaise greeted him with a cold look which Draco returned with raised eyebrows, lying the Firebolt down on the table before him.

Blaise looked at the broom. 'Is that Potter's Firebolt?'

Draco did his best to look surprised. 'Oh, my, I suppose it is.'

Green eyes were glaring at him from across the Hall, and Draco swiped a napkin and began to polish the handle lovingly.

After 'Zachary, Luther' had been sorted into Ravenclaw, McGonagall removed the stool and took her place at the staff table as the Hall tables filled with food, and Draco realised he was starving. Pansy interrogated him the entire time, asking where he'd been and with whom, what he had been up to and why in Merlin's beard was he wearing Muggle clothes.

'I heard about your mum,' she said quietly, and the food in Draco's mouth turned to ash. 'I'm so sorry, Draco,' she added quickly. Draco looked at her, and found that she did not look in the least bit sorry. She looked furious. 'D'you have any idea who—'

'An idea,' Draco said shortly, putting down his fork. 'It doesn't matter.'

'The hell it doesn't!' Pansy hissed. 'I know she was  _your_ mother, but you're not the only one who has the right to be angry about it.'

'It doesn't matter,' he snapped again. 'You can be angry. I want people to be angry. But I'm the one who's going to take care of it.'

Pansy looked slightly worried at this declaration but didn't argue. Blaise was watching him from across the table, but said nothing. Pansy could be annoying at times, but she knew when to quit, and went for a change of subject.

'I can't believe Dumbledore made you Head Boy,' she said quickly.

'Neither can I,' Draco and Blaise said together. Draco gave him a look; Blaise smirked. 'Have you deducted any points from Gryffindor yet? I heard you spent the summer with Weasels and things.'

'Heard where?' Draco asked. 'Your mother's grapevine?'

Blaise shrugged, looking nonplussed at the go at his mother. 'People see things, people talk... '

'People should learn when to shut up,' Pansy snapped, earning a glare from Blaise and a large amount of gratitude from Draco. Dumbledore had been quite clear with Draco about what he was allowed to talk about, and what he was not, and although Draco did not respect his Headmaster anymore today than he did six years ago, he knew the man was not one to be crossed.

After the puddings had vanished into their bellies and Draco had fended off most of Pansy's further inquiries, Dumbledore rose and the room quieted, waiting for the Headmaster to begin.

'Good evening to you all,' Dumbledore began, opening his arms wide in welcome. 'Mr Filch would like me to remind you all that all products from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes are banned from the premises. I would also like to welcome back Professor Snape, who will once again be filling the position of Potions Master.' (There was collective groan at the Gryffindor table.) 'That said, I wish you all to welcome Professor Meadows, who will be teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts this year.'

A tall, thin man with sandy hair and very bright eyes stood briefly to acknowledge Dumbledore's mention. There was scattered clapping, but Draco squinted at him, knowing he'd seen the man before somewhere.

After the clapping subsided, Dumbledore continued: 'Due to recent events and the return of Voldemort, the staff and I, as we have informed all of your guardians, have taken a great many of precautions to ensure the safety of our students. That said, I cannot stress enough that our precautions will do little if the students themselves do not adequately prepare themselves. As such, Mr Potter, with the help of our Head Girl and Professor Meadows, have agreed to once again offer the extra-curricular activity once known as "Dumbledore's Army" to any students interested in extra practise in Defense Against the Dark Arts.' There was a great deal of whooping at the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables at this. 'In addition, Professor Snape has requested that I ask that any students feeling that they may be gifted in the area of Occlumency to see him at the end of the week, at his office by eight o'clock. Now then...

'As some of you may have noticed, a good number of our students have chosen not to return this year to continue their education.' There was a quiet murmur of a agreement as eyes swept over the Slytherin table. 'While I understand and wish to preserve each House's individuals, the staff and I have decided, both with student's safety and general well-being in mind, that this year we will converge the four houses of Hogwarts down to two.'

There was a long pause in which Dumbledore allowed this information to sink in, and in which many of the students stared in confusion waiting for a clearer explanation on what he was on about.

'What this means,' Dumbledore continued, as if he was unaware that the entire Hall was on the edge of their seats, 'is that of the four houses, students will be sharing two Towers: Gryffindor and Ravenclaw respectively. As for how the Houses' populations will be divided, we have taken into account the amount of students returned... Gryffindor, which has had the most, followed by Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin with the least, and therefore—'

'Oh, no,' Weasley said loudly from across the room, 'you've got to be  _joking_.'

'—Ravenclaw shall, for now, be sharing dormitories with the Hufflepuffs, and the Slytherins with Gryffindor.'

There was an instant uproar from either side of the Hall.

It took many threats from McGonagall and several patient minutes for the room to fall quiet enough that Dumbledore could continue, apparent unawares of the horrified stares of the Slytherins and the betrayed faces of the Gryffindors.

'While some of you may think this particular combination unwise,' much muttering confirmed this was the general consensus, 'I assure you that the staff and I have considered this decision very carefully, and considering many of the events that have taken place over the summer—' Dumbledore paused briefly, and Draco watched him look over to Harry, and then pointedly at himself, '—has led me to believe that this will be for the best.

'So!' he finished brightly, smiling at all of their horrified little faces. 'Slytherins, if you would kindly retire with your fellow Gryffindors, and Ravenclaws, likewise with Hufflepuff. Time-sheets will be passed out in the morning. Good night!'

: : :


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

_Flying is learning how to throw yourself at the ground, and miss._  
\- Douglas Adams

: : :

As usual, every Thursday afternoon was double Potions was shared with Gryffindor. Draco wondered if Dumbledore did it on purpose, and whether he was trying to punish Snape, or Harry—or both—but inspecting his timetable further Draco noticed that Slytherin was sharing a lot of classes with Gryffindor, probably to keep the classes balanced. Potions was never that bad, not for Draco—Snape gave him a lot of leeway and tortured the Gryffindors enough that Draco was often left feeling quite satisfied after every lesson.  
  
But Friday afternoon was what they all were waiting for—even Draco, despite the knowledge he had not one, but  _two_  double-periods to share with Gryffindor—their double period of NEWT-level Defence Against the Dark Arts. Everybody was curious about the new Professor. Bets had already been started on how this one would turn out: an impostor, sacked, deranged, eaten by a troll, carried off by a herd of centaurs...  
  
Their new professor was seated at his desk when Draco and his few, fellow Slytherins piled into the room. The classroom itself had a very Lupin-esque feel about it, or so Draco thought, although he didn't quite remember too many details of his third year. He had always secretly liked Lupin, as a professor anyway—he always gave Draco high marks, and his lessons  _had_  been the most interesting they'd ever had, aside from Moody's. But Moody had turned out not even to be Moody, so those hardly counted.  
  
Once everyone had taken their seats, their new professor stood and regarded them quietly for a moment, waiting patiently for the chatter in the room to turn into a hushed silence as everyone awaited his first words.  
  
'As you all know, I am Professor Meadows,' he began. Strands of thin, tawny hair fell into his bright, sea-green eyes. They were quite hard to look away from. 'I will be your Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher for the term. I must say, I'm quite pleased to see so many of you have chosen to continue this class at NEWT level.'  
  
'Didn't leave us much of a choice,' Draco muttered, grimly.  
  
'Ah, yes, Mr Malfoy,' Professor Meadows murmured. Apparently he had very keen hearing. 'I do know that Dumbledore has impressed on all of you the importance of taking this class, nevertheless, I'm happy to see so many of you have taken his advice.' He gave them all a pleased look, surveying their expectant faces. 'Now to begin:  
  
'I trust you all familiarised yourselves with the preface of your text,' he continued, and there was a general shuffle as students pulled out their books. 'And in doing so have realised that I plan to take a slightly different approach to instructing you in Defence this term. Yes? Miss Granger, isn't it?'  
  
Granger put down her hand, a curious look upon her face. 'Sir, I've taken the liberty of reading a bit further—' ('She's read it twice through already, she means,' Weasley said, rolling his eyes. Potter smiled, and Draco found himself smirking.) '—and it seemed almost as if,' she faltered, searching for the right words, 'almost as if you planned to instruct us  _in_  the Dark Arts.'  
  
Loud muttering broke out upon the classroom, which Professor Meadows stopped by clearing his throat. 'You are correct, Miss Granger, in a way,' he paused and waited for the whispering to fall silent completely before continuing. 'In the years I've spent studying the Dark Arts, I have found the best way to defend one's self against them is to  _understand_  them as thoroughly as possible; to know one's enemy, if you will. Do not be alarmed, however—as we work our way through the term you will all come to learn that there is  _much_  more to Dark magic than Unforgivable curses.  
  
'I trust that being well on your way into early adulthood, many of you understand to some degree that the world is not a place of black and white. It is, in reality, comprised entirely of shades of grey, and it is in these shades that the mystery of Light and Dark magic is often clouded and severely misunderstood. For example, can anyone of you supply me with a spell—whatever you please—that you consider Light magic?'  
  
Several students raised their hands. The professor indicated Parvati Patil, who said, 'Most Healing spells would be considered Light magic, wouldn't they, professor?'  
  
'Indeed,' Professor Meadows agreed, nodding. 'Ten points to Gryffindor. Your mother works at St Mungo's, if I remember correctly?'  
  
Parvati nodded, blushing, and took her seat.  
  
'All right, and now, likewise, I would like an example of Dark magic—' several hands instantly shot into the air, but the professor waved them aside, finishing, '—that is  _not_  one of the three Unforgivable curses, if you please.'  
  
Most of the hands slowly lowered. Granger's hand, however, remained in the air. 'Yes, Miss Granger?'  
  
'A jinx,' Granger said simply. 'Or any minor hex, really—like Bat Bogey hex, or a Jelly-Legs jinx.'  
  
'You're on the right track,' Professor Meadows agreed. 'You will soon find that Dark magic had and even now has  _many_  practical approaches in magic used every day, and many spells if tracked to their origin, will have begun as incantations classified as nothing other than Dark magic. The same applies vice-versa. Yes, Mr Potter?'  
  
'What about the Patronus charm?'  
  
'Ah,' Professor Meadows said, folding his hands over his chest. 'Yes. There are some exceptions, and that is one of the few. Extremes, of course, do exist at either spectrum of magic, and the Patronus charm is perhaps the purest of any magic known to wizardkind. On the other extreme, of course, we have the infamous Killing Curse—which no amount of reasoning or research can place elsewhere.'  
  
Draco was quite annoyed at the end of class, when the professor assigned them all reading for their assignment, to discover that he, like the rest of the class, had spent the rest of their period on the edge of their seats, hanging onto every word. He was actually  _interested_  in what the man had to say on the matter, and was  _looking forward_  to reading about it. This was all very new and confusing and Draco decided it was in his best interests not to dwell on the matter.  


: : :

Much to everyone's surprise, the adjoined Houses, however unwilling, lasted longer than the first evening. Unhappy but burdened with the knowledge that they had little say in the matter, the Gryffindors and Slytherins had reached a silent, mutual truce due to forced confinement.  
  
Be and let be, Draco thought, happy enough that he had his own room as Head Boy. Blaise had to share dorms with the other seventh-year Gryffindors, but Blaise was six-feet tall and built like a centaur and could certainly handle his own. Potter and his friends seem to have reached the same conclusion, and left their lone Slytherin invader in relative peace. Pansy, similarly, had established that, while tiny in form, she had the temper of a Hungarian Horntail and teeth to match, and the Gryffindor girls gave her adequate space.  
  
Term was quickly approaching the end of its first week before chaos erupted.  
  
Whatever hopes the Headmaster had that Gryffindor and Slytherin would live together in relative peace and harmony were dashed early Saturday morning, the first day of the term that they had no classes to attend and were forced to spend the majority of the day in each other's company. The first years of both Houses had almost gotten friendly with one another before it became apparent that to befriend a Slytherin, the first-year Gryffindors forfeited any right they had to be part of the big red-and-gold family. They had to hate each other on principle, whether they got on all right or not.  
  
Pansy spent most of her free time in Draco's room, but Draco had spent three months crammed in a tiny house and was feeling quite claustrophobic. He swaggered into the common room around ten o'clock, Pansy on his arm, and turned up his nose at the décor as he did every morning.  
  
'It's horrible, isn't it,' Pansy said, sensing his disapproval. She did not bother to lower her voice, and got several dark looks from the scattered Gryffindors occupying seats by the fireplace. 'I don't see why we have to put up with their bad sense of colour coordination just because we have to live with them.'  
  
She made a fair point, Draco thought. Emerald and silver were subtle colours, and complimented each other extremely well. Even Ravenclaw, with navy and bronze, had some sort of appeal. Leave it to Gryffindor and Hufflepuff to sport blazing colours like red and yellow to blind their fellow schoolmates with.  
  
'What do you think, hm?' Pansy hummed as they escaped through the portrait hole, intent on finding some breakfast. 'Obviously, green and red would look terrible, and red and silver I couldn't fathom, but green and gold—well, it'd certainly be an  _improvement_ . And that goes for the mascot, too; well it could be worse than a lion, of course, I feel so terrible for the Ravenclaws—honestly, a  _badger_ , of all things—but a lion hardly speaks for the Slytherin population. There is a medium, even, if they want to be  _fair_  about it,' she sneered the word, as if to imply of course they would, they are  _Gryffindors_ , all fairness and justice and a load of hypocrisy.  
  
'I don't think the Headmaster would change the House colours for eleven students,' Draco pointed out. 'Much less the mascots.'  
  
'Who said anything about the Headmaster?' Pansy asked innocently, smirking like the devil.  


: : :

The Gryffindors and Slytherins may have had to live together, but they continued to have meals at either end of the Great Hall. Perhaps this is why none of them noticed that a few select students were missing; Draco and Blaise were there, Draco chewing mutely and listening to Blaise bitch endlessly about the nocturnal habits of Gryffindor boys, but Pansy and several of the younger-year girls were no-where to be seen. Draco had a fair idea of where they were and what they were doing, and would have been inclined to join them, but Potter kept such a close eye on him these days that if he were missing, Potter would  _know_  he was up to something. Then he would tell all his little annoying friends and they would come investigate, and ruin everything.  
  
So Draco ate his potatoes and listened in some amusement as Blaise brainstormed aloud on how he could jinx his dorm-mates in their sleep before Potter cursed him into oblivion. They ate desert slowly, not wanting to miss the reactions, and trailed after the great mass of Gryffindors heading sulkily back into their invaded tower.  
  
They came to a halt outside the Fat Lady's portrait. After a few minutes of no movement, Draco craned his head to see what the problem was. Granger's mass of hair bobbed into view from the front. 'Malfoy!'  
  
'Your Mudblood is calling,' Blaise informed him unnecessarily.  
  
Grimacing, Draco shoved a few second-years unceremoniously out of his way and climbed the last few stairs. 'What's the hold up?'  
  
' _Someone_ ,' Weasley spat for her, standing in front of the portrait, 'has gone and changed the password.' His tone implied he knew exactly who that Someone was, and was planning to pummel that Someone in the face until they admitted their guilt.  
  
'Yes, Weasley, you got me,' Draco said, and sighed dramatically. ' _I_ changed the password. Now I can sit out here with the rest of you until someone comes along and guesses it for us, because it makes perfect sense that I would lock you all out of a dormitory I have every reason to want to enter. I thought we could have tea, and talk about our problems like respectable adults, and maturely overcome our issues and proceed to kiss and make-up.'  
  
Weasley looked rather deflated at this, then quickly enraged when he realised Draco was being smart with him, turning approximately the same colour as his hair. 'Don't cheek me, Malfoy, or I'll—'  
  
'What, lose twenty points from Gryffindor?' Draco reminded him, smirking. 'Well, if you insist—'  
  
'Quit it, the  _both_  of you,' Granger intervened, rolling her eyes. 'This is absolutely ridiculous. Only Heads of House and the Head Boy and Girl have the ability to change the password, and as it obviously wasn't either of us and we weren't informed of the change—'  
  
'Have you tried "Gryffindors are colour-blind"?' Draco suggested, trying and failing not to smirk.  
  
'Actually, yes,' Ginny Weasley snapped, glaring at him from between her brother and Potter. 'And "Muggles smell", "Pureblood", and the old classic " _Slythering Pride_ ".'  
  
'Please,' Draco said, horrified, 'give us a little credit, we're not  _that_  unimaginative.'  
  
'We should fetch Professor McGonagall,' Granger said smartly. 'Elie, would you—'  
  
'Bugger  _that_ ,' Weasley snapped. 'I'm not running to a teacher about this. He knows the password, you can tell he does, look at him smirk. Out with it, Malfoy.'  
  
This wasn't true, but Draco  _did_  know who had changed the password, and was thinking quickly through the possibilities. Obviously, Pansy trusted he'd be able to figure it out, or she would have told him beforehand.  
  
Or maybe she wouldn't have. Could never tell with that girl.  
  
What had she been going on about earlier? He squinted, trying to remember. Ranting about green and red looking like Christmas had vomited into the Tower, and how Lavender Brown actually had red and gold panties, that Ginny Weasley was a bigger tart then she ever could have imagined, something about a mascot, and—  
  
'Well?' Weasley demanded. Draco soon became aware that everyone was staring at him expectantly.  
  
He shrugged. 'Did you try "Chimera"?'  
  
And, as if she hadn't kept the entire House waiting outside in the hall, the Fat Lady bowed as elegantly as her waistline would allow and opened, exposing the hole into the common room.  
  
Weasley was the first one in. He must have been stunned in silence, however, because the first noise was Lavender Brown shrieking as she followed Granger and Potter inside.  
  
'What in holy hell—' Potter began, before words failed him.  
  
Draco didn't know what the fuss was about, he thought it looked rather spectacular.  
  
Every surface in the common room that had once been a bright, candy-apple red had been transformed into a deep, soothing evergreen. The gold, while still gold, was not nearly as yellowish and bright, but toned down and a bit more on the goldenrod side of the colour wheel. The only red left in the entire tower was the fire under the mantle, crackling merrily and casting a warm, inviting glow on the sudden dimness of the room. But what shocked them all the most, however, was the fact that every golden emblem in the shape of a lion had been replaced with a chimera, which was, as Draco had guessed, Pansy's idea of a 'happy medium' between the lion and a serpent.  
  
'What the hell did you do, Malfoy?' Weasley demanded, wheeling on him.  
  
Draco raised an eyebrow. 'I was at dinner, Weasley. And five points for shouting.'  
  
Weasley quickly turned as red as the fire, perhaps trying to bring back the old colour of his common room. But whatever he planned to say next, his sister cut off, stepping in front of Draco with a finger pointed accusingly at his chin. 'We're not stupid, Malfoy. Just because you were at dinner doesn't mean you didn't have something to do with this.'  
  
The tone of her voice suggested she believed he had  _everything_  to do with it, which Draco decided was just unfair. He didn't do so much as change the arrangement of the pillows on the sofa—just because he knew Pansy was  _planning_  to do it didn't mean he was guilty of anything.  
  
Technically.  
  
Ginny had already turned away to rejoin the trio, muttering under her breath. 'It  _was_ Pansy Parkinson, that sneaky little  _tart_ , I swear to Merlin—'  
  
'Ginny!' Granger said, shocked, but Draco said over her, 'And ten, for language, Weasley. And another five for lack of creativity in the manner.'  
  
'He can't do that!'  
  
'Actually, Ron, he  _can_ ,' Granger hissed. 'And you lot just keep giving him reasons to—'  
  
'Why don't you take points for them mucking up the common room, then?'  
  
'Or get his badge revoked,' Ginny supplied.  
  
'Because we can't prove  _who_  did, and he  _was_  at dinner so he couldn't have done it himself—'  
  
'We  _know_  he did it!' the red-heads protested in unison.  
  
'Oh, for crying out loud,' Granger said, sounding very much like Draco's head was feeling. 'Go on then, lose all the points we've gotten already, but it's on  _you_ .'  
  
Draco had come to appreciate over the past week that his co-Head, while infuriatingly correct and proficient in everything, had a good deal of common sense for one that had lived amongst Gryffindors for so long. While she ruined any chance he had to take further points, she also made them stop shouting at him, though they kept shooting him dark looks across the common room.  
  
Potter and Weasley eventually wandered up to their dormitories and Blaise, sighing deeply, followed not long afterwards. Granger was still sitting on the sofa to his right, scribbling furiously at an essay and checking one of her textbooks for notes. She had ink on her bottom lip, and smeared on her wrist, but didn't appear to notice. Or care, he thought dismally.  
  
He had, naturally, taken the warmest armchair for himself, positioned just to the left of the fire, and was reading idly through  _Enchanting Elixirs: A Review of the Most Complex and Illegal Concoctions_ when Pansy finally entered the common room through the portrait hole.  
  
'Oh, my,' she said aloud, blinking and looking genuinely surprised. 'I just  _love_  what you've done with the place.'  
  
Ginny, who had been trying for the better part of an hour to re-charm the curtains red without success, gave her a long, cold look. Pansy ignored her, and sauntered over to Draco, dropping a kiss on the top of his head. 'I'm going to bathe, darling,' she informed him, smiling. 'Meet you upstairs?'  
  
Draco, nodding mutely, watched her legs sashay away, and wondered what he'd ever done to deserve such a girl. Well, besides the obvious wit, charm, wealth and high marks. Maybe those were enough?  
  
The subdued air in the room did not last long, however—Pansy had barely closed the door to the girls dormitories before there was a shriek like a siren, and Lavender came running back down the stairs, looking terrified.  
  
'What did you  _do?_ ' she demanded of Ginny, furiously.  
  
Ginny sniffed and continued to prod the curtain with her wand. 'I don't know what you're on about,' she said in a voice that implied she knew exactly what Lavender was on about.  
  
'Yeah, right,' Lavender snapped. 'Look, I know you hate her and all, but  _you_  do not have to  _live with her_ .'  
  
'But what—' Granger had started, but never finished, because an enraged  _crash_ echoed from upstairs that sounded suspiciously like a wardrobe crushing one of the four-posters. Or perhaps a Norwegian Ridgeback had decided to nest in there. Either way, there was a large, echoing  _boom_ , followed by a sickening crunch and the sound of wood straining, twisting, and finally snapping into splintery bits, followed by an eerie silence.  
  
Parvati Patil came running down the stairs in her nightdress, latching onto Lavender's arm with a tight grip. 'She's gone and killed the room,' she hissed. 'Actually  _killed it_ .'  
  
At the noise the boy's dormitories began to empty into the common room. While Granger yelled at the lower years to get back to bed, Potter and the other seventh-year boys, save for Blaise, were poking there heads over the banister of the stairs to see what was causing all the noise.  
  
'Malfoy,' Ginny snapped, grabbing Draco's attention from his book, 'mind controlling your girlfriend? She's making a wreck.'  
  
'And I've not a mind to get in her way,' Draco pointed out, smirking. 'But if you think you can stop her, by all means—'  
  
This was, Draco reflected later, perhaps not the time nor place to goad the youngest of the Weasleys. Trained by a lifetime of fighting with brothers twice her size and age, Ginny was perhaps the  _only_ person with enough gall to pick a fight with Pansy Parkinson.  
  
Twenty minutes later the entirety of Gryffindor Tower was standing in the stone halls outside their dormitories, some of them looking rather singed and others just plain bewildered; many of them had been quite happily asleep when the seventh-year girls' dormitory had exploded and caught on fire, which quickly spread to the common room and consequently the rest of the tower. McGonagall had come running at the noise and immediately dispensed of the flames, and was currently shouting at Pansy and Ginny inside the common room's charred remains.  
  
Dumbledore, eyes twinkling but looking resigned, decided that perhaps some things could not be overcome, no matter what the circumstances. They were to all sleep in the Great Hall tonight, and both Pansy and Ginny were to serve a week's worth of detention and spending their free periods helping restore the tower to its original state—minus the green upholstery and golden chimeras.  
  
Draco knocked into Potter on the way down the staircase, and before any scathing comments could leave his mouth, he noticed Potter was looking as amused as he felt.  
  
'It's a shame, really,' Draco felt compelled to say. Potter blinked; he'd probably been expecting the scathing remark. 'They make us look like amateurs.'  
  
'We never set anything on fire,' Potter agreed, shooting him a sideways glance and smirking. 'Maybe we should step it up a notch.'  


: : :


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter Twenty-four**

_'End discrimination: hate everybody.'_  
—Elle Eden

: : :

So far, nothing else had caught on fire. The Heads of House seemed to consider this a victory, and for the next week the new arrangements went about relatively peacefully.

There'd been some mention about first-year Hufflepuffs being used like house-elves by the older Slytherins, and the Ravenclaws had complained about the general condition of Gryffindor books, but for the most part, everybody was happy.

Well, almost.

'Bloody brainless, belligerent badgers!'

Pansy was on the rampage again. Actually, Pansy was so often on the rampage that it was easier to note when she  _wasn't_. Everything about Hufflepuffs infuriated her; the way they walked, talked, had  _manners_ , held open doors for the person behind them, brushed their teeth,  _breathed_ …

Draco was in his room, lounging on his bed amongst several rolls of parchment, a Self-Inking quill, and his Potions book balanced delicately on his knees. His half-finished essay fluttered to the floor in the wake of Pansy slamming his door.

'Good morning,' he said by way of greeting, without looking up. He summoned his essay back and began writing again.

'I can't stand them,' she snarled, plopping onto the edge of his bed in a huff, causing his fluid strokes to dance haphazardly across the parchment. 'I don't care if there're only a dozen of us, we'd be _fine_  in the dungeons.  _Our_  dungeons.'

'I dunno,' Draco hummed, fixing the error. 'The tower's all right, much more tolerable colour scheme. Nice to see the sun in the morning, too.'

Pansy turned to glare at him. 'You don't have to  _live with them_.'

Draco spared her a look, raising an eyebrow. 'The badgerettes ganging up on you, darling?'

'I can take care of myself,' Pansy snapped, turning away and raising her chin.

Draco smiled at her back. He wondered briefly who she'd hex first, if she found out he'd been courting a Hufflepuff over the summer. He decided it'd be best if he never had to find out.

: : :

Granger cornered him after the next Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson. Draco had been distracted; the lesson had been focused on the uses of Dark magic in history, and what uses the Dark Arts had in Old Magic. He had been re-reading the last paragraphs of the chapter they'd gone over in class while his classmates exited in a chorus of book-shuffling and chair-scraping. When he'd finally put his book away and stood up, a mass of bushy hair obscured his view.

'Malfoy,' she said curtly. 'We need to arrange a time to meet; the Headmaster would like us to take the evening curfew sweeps in turns, and I've made a timetable of when I think will best suit us both, taking into account how early our morning classes begin on the following day. If you—'

'Whatever,' Draco replied, walking carefully around her. 'Just Owl me the schedule, I'll manage.'

'Well—will you please wait a moment?' She dashed around him, cutting him off. 'There's other things we need to discuss, and I also wanted to ask—I mean, Harry wanted to know if—would you be interested in attending the DA meetings?' She spoke hurriedly, the words rushing out over the top of each other. 'I mean, it'd set a good example to the students, especially since not many Slytherins have—'

'Granger,' he interrupted. She huffed at the interruption and went to continue her lecture, but Draco spoke over her. 'I've really no interest in spending more time with you than I absolutely have to.'

He left her standing there, aware that Potter had watched the exchange from the door. He tried to walk past him, but Potter moved to block the doorway. 'Malfoy—'

'If I'm late for Ancient Runes,' Draco said tersely, shoving past him, 'I swear to Merlin, I  _will_  deduct one hundred points from Gryffindor.'

'Malfoy,' Potter said again, side-stepping into his path. 'Just—will you hear me out? Please?'

'What is this, an intervention?' Draco said, annoyed, wheeling around.

'You could call it that,' Potter said, failing to contain a smirk. 'I'm serious.'

'So am I,' Draco said, stepping around him. 'Thanks, but no thanks.'

'Malfoy—' Potter grabbed his wand arm, and Draco snatched it back quickly, grasping his forearm through the fabric of his robes. 'Shit, sorry.'

Draco turned away wordlessly and left; he didn't hear footsteps following, but just before he rounded the corner, Potter's voice called after him. 'You said you couldn't conjure a Patronus.'

It sounded like a challenge. Draco stopped but didn't turn around. He could hear Potter's footsteps now, coming towards him, stopping just behind him.

'I could teach you.'

Draco snorted softly, looking over his shoulder. 'What makes you think I want you to?'

Potter hesitated. 'I just figured, with your mum and everything—'

'Don't,' Draco bit out quickly.

'—that you might want to, you know, be prepared.'

Draco turned slowly to face him, expressionless. 'I'm not  _helpless_ , Potter.'

'I'm not saying you are,' Potter replied, looking him in the eyes, 'but we  _all_  need to be prepared. Dark spells alone won't be enough. I'd—prefer,' he spoke slowly, as if choosing his words carefully, 'that you're able to defend yourself properly. When the time comes.'

Draco noted his use of 'when', not 'if'.

'Your concern, while touching,' he sneered over his shoulder, turning to leave, 'is unnecessary. I can take care of myself, Potter.'

Behind him, Potter said, 'Can you?'

Draco pretended not to hear him, and went to Ancient Runes.

: : :

'I am not a cripple, Mr Malfoy.'

'Of course you aren't, sir,' Draco remarked absently. He finished tidying away the empty cauldrons anyway, and sent the leftover ingredients soaring back to the supply cupboard with a flick of his wand.

It was the following Thursday. Draco had managed to dodge any further inquiries about his attending the DA meeting that was to take place that very evening. Here, he was sure, even Potter wouldn't dare come to find him. Brave as the prat was, he was not sadistic—he would avoid Snape at all costs, which made Draco's job of avoiding Potter all that much easier.

It wasn't the only reason he was here, though. He'd been staying behind in Potions class since the start of term, attempting to make small-talk and gossiping about the unhealthy habits of Hufflepuffs in an effort to disguise the fact that he really just missed his old professor's company. With all the Slytherins spending their time crammed into Ravenclaw Tower with Hufflepuffs (Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff had only slightly protested the arrangement; the staff wanted both bodies of students out of the dungeons, so Ravenclaw were bunking in Gryffindor Tower for now), Draco hardly got to see his Head of House outside of classes and meals anymore.

'I am perfectly capable,' Snape persisted from his seat the desk, but making no effort to move despite his words, 'of putting my classroom back into order on my own.'

'Sure thing, Professor,' Draco replied, spelling the desks clean.

Snape rolled his eyes but turned back to the rolls of parchment on his desk, recent assignments collected from his NEWT-level students. He selected one and opened it, and immediately began to slash at it with his wand, leaving red marks in its wake. Draco did not have ask whose unfortunate paper it was; Potter had, unfortunately, gotten an Outstanding in Potions thanks to Slughorn, and Snape had no choice but to allow him to continue the subject in his seventh year. This did not mean that Snape had to be  _fair_  about it.

'Idiot,' Snape hissed through his teeth at the parchment. 'Mr Malfoy, if you're quite finished, I must get these marked before the day's end, and your hovering is rather distracting.'

'I'm not hovering.' Draco made a face over his shoulder; well, maybe he  _was_ hovering. A little. 'I could help you mark those, if you like.'

'Don't you have something better to do?'

'Not really,' Draco said, truthfully. 'Potions was my last class today, you know that. And dinner's not for another couple of hours.' Draco paused, then added, smirking, 'I guess I could go torment the Hufflepuffs for a bit, if you like.'

'I meant,' Snape continued, ignoring the remark, 'something more extracurricular?'

'Sir?'

Snape laid down his wand and looked up at Draco. 'I believe this evening is the first meeting of the DA, is it not?'

'Oh,' said Draco. 'Um. Well, I wasn't planning on attending, sir.'

'Really,' Snape said, not sounding surprised at all. 'And why not?'

Draco looked at him incredulously. 'Are you kidding, sir?'

'Do I appear to be kidding?'

'I—' Draco fumbled, looking for a valid argument. 'I don't think I'd be welcome,' he admitted. 'Sir.'

Snape resumed his attack on Potter's assignment. 'I was under the impression that Potter had invited you personally.'

'Well, yes, but—'

'As painful as it is for me to admit it,' Snape continued, 'the organisation has produced some very impressive results. Many students have benefited from the practice. And let's be frank, Draco,' Snape said, looking up at him briefly, 'Defence has never been your strong suit.'

Draco felt himself flush. 'I've got enough to do,' he insisted. 'I mean, I've got to study for NEWTs, and I've—well, with Head Boy duties—'

'Not a minute ago you assured me you had nothing better to do than torment your unfortunate Housemates,' Snape interrupted, smirking. 'And as much as I would normally encourage such behaviour, I believe your time would be better spent with the DA.'

: : :

When Draco arrived on the seventh-floor corridor, he could hear explosions. Flashes of multicoloured light reflected off the far wall and, cautiously making his way down the hall, he saw that the door to the Room of Requirement had been propped open.

Inside was a haze of smoke, dust, and loud bangs. A large group of students, thirty or more, were huddled against the far wall; they seemed to be comprised of fourth-years and older, and were watching the spectacle on the main floor with wide-eyed and, in some cases, open-mouthed awe.

Potter was in the centre of the room, which was covered in thick mats and several pieces of furniture, randomly arrayed to provide cover. His back was against one of the wardrobes, and he was fending off the attacks of what looked like three other students; at least two other Stunned or otherwise incapacitated students already lay unmoving on the floor. Professor Meadows and Granger, wands drawn, were poised at either end of the room in what looked like referee positions—probably there to make sure no one got seriously injured.

Ginny was crouched behind a table with Neville; they seemed to be communicating with hand signals—across from them, behind her own table, was Luna Lovegood, looking pleased, if a little singed. Potter was breathing heavily, his chest falling and rising under his robes, and grinning. Draco walked in the door just as Ginny and Neville stood up and attacked, shooting Stunning spells at the side of the wardrobe Potter was behind—when Potter ducked out of the way, Luna nearly hit him in the chest with another Stun, but Potter's shield charm was too quick for her; the spell rebounded, hitting her full in the face, and knocked her flat on her back.

'Shit!' Ginny dragged Neville back down and, shoving just her wand over the edge of the table, yelled  _'Reducto!_ ' The wardrobe exploded into fragments, making the group of students at the far end of the room duck and shield their eyes. If she had been looking, she would have seen that Potter was no longer by the wardrobe; he'd moved to another upturned piece of furniture, this time a bookcase, and now disarmed her with a quick, unuttered  _Expelliarmus._

With two wands trained on them, Neville and Ginny looked at each other; Neville raised his eyebrows and Ginny, shrugging, raised her hands in surrender. Potter lowered the wands, smirking, and tossed hers back.

'As you can see,' Professor Meadows said, as Granger went and revived the two other students, 'the original members of this little organisation are quite advanced in the way of duelling. And while I do not expect all of you to be able to duel five on one like Mr Potter, here—'

Draco snorted, loudly enough that the Professor paused in his speech and turned to face him. Every eye in the room followed; Granger looked surprised, and Potter looked rather pleased. Draco smirked at him. 'Hardly a feat, is it, taking on five amateurs with no real intent to hurt him.'

'I'm pretty sure the Death Eaters meant to hurt him.' It was surprisingly not Ginny, Granger, or Weasley who spoke up—but Longbottom. Dusting himself off, he shot Draco a look of such solid conviction that Draco blinked at him, taken aback. 'And I'm pretty sure Voldemort meant to. Still managed to out-duel them, didn't he?'

Potter was the only person in the room besides Neville not to wince at the Dark Lord's name. Before Draco could reply, however, Potter spoke up: 'He's still got a point, though, Neville.' Potter turned his gaze to Draco. 'Well?' he said. 'Come on, then, Malfoy. Let's see what you've got.'

Well, he'd walked right into this, hadn't he? But it was a little late to back down, what with half of the student body as an audience. Shrugging his cloak off onto the floor, Draco stepped forward, wand held casually at his side. Potter grinned at him.

'I dare say I need not remind you both,' Professor Meadows' voice called out, 'that unblockable curses are forbidden.'

Draco kept his eyes on Potter as he asked, 'And Dark magic?'

Professor Meadows sounded strangely smug as he replied, 'Is encouraged, Mr Malfoy. After all, that is what we're here to learn how to defend against.'

Potter really was shit at Occlumency, Draco observed as the duel began. He could see every spell coming, even the occasional non-verbal that Potter sent his way, and easily blocked them all. Potter wasn't using anything dangerous at all—Stunning Spells, minor jinxes, and repeated attempts at Disarming him. While these spells might have been effective if they were unexpected, with his untrained mind giving away his every move, they were useless.

After a fifth blocked Stun, Potter paused. He was sizing Draco up, trying to figure out what he was up to—and Draco let him, because Draco's mental barriers were in place so that even if Potter had any skill at Legilimency, he wouldn't have a clue.

And then, without any warning whatsoever, Potter pointed his wand at the ceiling; too late, Draco saw the silent incantation in his mind, and barely got off his Shield Charm in time. While he was distracted with the crumbling ceiling, Potter cast again, and nearly got him with a Stun—Draco snarled and lashed back, sending an onslaught of conjured chains at him that attempted to choke him. Potter blasted the chains away with another Reductor Curse just as Draco turned his wand on a nearby wardrobe. It sprang to life and opened its double doors to reveal large, wooden teeth and attempted to swallow his opponent. It screeched horribly as Potter quickly set it on fire—he was casting entirely non-verbal spells now, Draco noticed, full of adrenaline and acting purely on autopilot.

Draco's plan with the wardrobe failed as it turned on him, fleeing the fire from Potter's wand, and nearly ran him down. He destroyed it with a quickly thought  _reducto!_  but when the debris settled, Potter was no longer in front of him.

'Not bad, Malfoy,' Potter said at his shoulder. His wand was resting against Draco's throat, bobbing in time with Draco's swallows, tracing the scar there. 'But not good enough.'

They were both breathing so heavily that Draco could feel Potter's chest collide with his back at every breath. Draco contemplated duelling further, but despite Potter's failing at Occlumency, he knew he was outmatched. He glanced at Potter over his shoulder, and felt his stomach clench; Potter was filthy, singed, and smelled of ash, but was smiling at him for some absurd reason. Draco hurriedly looked away and lowered his wand.

'An excellent demonstration in repelling the Dark Arts,' Professor Meadows conceded as Draco, wincing, went to work removing the splinters from his hand from the renegade wardrobe. Potter set to tidying the mess with Granger as the rest of the students ventured closer, taking seats on the mats once they were clean. 'As you all saw, casting non-verbal spells was an essential...'

After the excitement of the opening duel with Potter, Draco felt himself growing bored. Even when Professor Meadows finished his little talk and split them into groups to practice Disarming, Draco kept wondering when the two hours would be up and it would be time for dinner. The only people he hadn't been able to Disarm outright had been Potter, Granger, and—shockingly enough—Longbottom. The rest of the students hardly presented a challenge, and he smirked rather viciously when he sent both Weasley and his sister's wands soaring.

'So at what point, exactly,' he drawled as they began spelling away their respective injuries and messes, 'am I supposed to be learning something useful?'

Potter, who was beside him healing a rather nasty cut on his shin, raised his eyebrows. 'Not enough of a challenge for you, Malfoy?'

'Not enough to waste two hours of my life,' Draco answered truthfully. 'Why don't you send me an Owl when you get to the good stuff, and I'll consider dropping by again.'

'Yeah? And what else is it that you have to do?' Potter rubbed the newly-healed skin, flexing his calf, and winced. 'Dammit.'

'Here.' Draco pushed his wand away with his own and muttered the healing spells; Potter tensed, probably expecting more pain, but relaxed as the spells took effect. 'You really are shit at healing charms.'

'Can't be good at everything.' He stood up, testing his weight on the leg. Satisfied it could support him, he shifted a few times. 'You know, you could actually be a lot of help with these lessons—I mean, the professor's the only one any good with healing charms, and you could teach the rest of us—'

'Harry, you coming?'

The room was emptying quickly; with the promise of dinner, people were hurriedly filing out the door. Professor Meadows had already disappeared, but Granger, Weasley, Longbottom and Ginny were all chatting by the exit, waiting for Potter; Ginny was waiting expectantly for an answer. But Potter waved them on and, with some reluctance and raised eyebrows from Weasley, they filed out.

'Tell you what,' Potter said, turning back around once they were alone. 'Forget healing charms. But I did want to ask you a favour.'

Draco raised an eyebrow. Potter, ask him for a favour?  _Owe_  him? Oh, this had to be good... 'I don't swing that way, but thanks anyway.'

Potter gave him a look and Draco suddenly felt a strong urge to squirm. 'Not  _that_  sort of favour,' he said, smirking. 'You're good at Occlumency,' he blurted, now looking like he also wanted to squirm. 'And I... well, Snape tried to teach me last year, and I don't think I need to even tell you how well that went.'

Draco blinked at him in disbelief. 'You want me to tutor you?'

'Why not?' Potter asked, shrugging. 'I mean, over the summer, Theo—and you—well, you helped a lot.' He sighed and looked at the floor, scuffing it with his shoe. 'I really miss getting a full night of sleep.'

'Potter,' Draco said, drawing the green gaze back up to him. 'Snape's the best Occlumens in the country. Probably the world. If  _he_  can't teach you—'

'I think it was less of a "can't" and more of a "won't", honestly,' Potter interrupted. 'There's... too much animosity between us.'

'And what're we, best mates?'

The smirk was back. When did Potter start smirking so much? 'If you think you're not up to it, Malfoy—'

'You know, what with you and Granger constantly inventing new ways to hog all of my attention, a bloke might get the wrong idea.'

'I'll tell her the threesome's off, then,' Potter remarked, his smirk growing at the look of utter repulsion Draco gave him. 'Come on, Malfoy. Don't make me beg.'

For a moment, Draco thought Potter had hexed him; those last words, casual as they were, hit Draco like a Freezing Charm. He swallowed quickly, and covered it up with a sneer. 'Would you?'

'If that's what stirs your cauldron.' The heat manifesting in Draco's collar began to travel lower. Potter, seemingly unaware of the effect his words were having, sighed. 'Look, we can do a trade-off. I'll teach you how to do the Patronus Charm, and you teach me Occlumency. Or try to, at least,' he added, shifting.

'You're not going to go away until I say yes, are you?'

The smirk was back again. 'I'm not below begging,' Potter reminded him.

Draco really hoped the shiver that ran through him wasn't obvious.

: : :

 


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter Twenty-Five**

_Always do right.  
_ _This will gratify some people, and astonish the rest._  
– Mark Twain

: : :

'Gin, we need to talk.'

The grey-scaled Ginny looked up from packing her trunk. Draco could tell at once, before she said a word, that she already knew. 'Yeah, we do.'

Potter, his hair a shocking black in the memory, apparently did, too. He winced. 'You already know.'

'Hermione had an idea,' Ginny admitted, closing the trunk and sitting on it. 'And tonight sort of made it obvious.'

Potter leaned back against the door and closed his eyes, wiping his hands over his face before opening them again. He looked at her and sighed heavily. 'God, Gin. I am so sorry.'

'I know.' She cocked her head at him, and then patted the trunk beside her. ' _I_  won't bite, you know.'

Potter looked wary. 'No,' he said, 'you're more the hexing type.'

'You'd deserve it.'

'I would,' he agreed, sitting next to her. After a moment, he leaned sideways into her, and she let him. 'Why haven't you?'

'I dunno,' she admitted. 'I do appreciate you telling me, though, even if it's belated.'

'I should have told you sooner.'

'Yes, you should have,' she agreed again. 'Look, Harry, I'm—well, I won't say I'm not angry, because I am, but—I'm more  _upset_ , than anything else. And not about what you'd think,' she added quickly when he opened his mouth to apologise, 'not about the cheating thing. Or the gay thing.' Potter shied away from her and she rolled her eyes. 'Oh, honestly, Harry, you may as well get used to the word.'

'How can you not be upset about the cheating thing?' he asked. Draco admired the topic change on his end.

'Well, I am a bit, but mostly just angry about that. But why I'm  _upset_ ,' she went on, 'is that even after everything we've been through, you didn't trust me enough to talk to me about it.'

'I didn't want to hurt you—'

'Bit of a stupid way to manage that, wasn't it?'

'I never said it wasn't stupid,' he said. 'I just—I didn't even fully understand it myself, all right? I was sort of hoping it would just... I dunno, go away. That I'd get over it. As stupid as that sounds.'

'Are you two serious, then?'

Potter frowned. 'Well, no. I don't know. I think I'd like to be. But I haven't really brought it up, you know, because I wanted to talk to you first.'

Ginny sighed heavily and pursed her lips. 'You don't need my permission, you know.'

'That's not—' he began, then stopped and tried again. 'I mean, I know that, I just—urgh. I feel like a complete arse.'

'Good,' Ginny said. There was a small, sad smile playing at her lips. She was still looking at him fondly, even though it was obvious every word out of Potter's mouth, so blatantly honest, was painful to hear. 'You  _were_  a complete arse.'

'I'm sorry.'

'You'll be sorrier later, when Ron finds out,' she pointed out. Potter looked at her in horror. 'What? Have you forgotten the fact that I have six older brothers?' Potter was frowning now, having obviously overlooked this not-so-tiny detail. 'Oh, don't worry. I'm not going to tell anyone you were unfaithful, Harry, because frankly it's none of their business. But when he finds out we're not dating anymore, he's going to want to know why. And I think you've been lying enough recently, especially to yourself.'

Potter looked at her for a moment, troubled but admiring her poise nonetheless. 'Yeah, I know.' He sighed and looked at his hands. 'I still think you're taking this rather well, considering. I was at least expecting a row.'

'I think you're punishing yourself enough without that,' she said, smiling none-to-sweetly. 'Guilt works on you better than shouting.'

Potter winced again, and grimaced. 'I am so, so sorry.'

'See?' Ginny said. Potter was looking down, so he didn't see her smile falter. 'I'll forgive you. Eventually. I think I just need some time to process it.'

Potter nodded mutely, but caught her hand as she stood up. She looked down at him, frowning. He was still looking at the floor. 'Thank you.'

He didn't see her eyes begin to water, either. She gently tugged her hand away and left the room without a word.

When the door closed, the memory faded. Draco saw the ghostly images of a graveyard and then something hit him hard in the stomach, causing him to double-over.

'Bloody  _fuck_ ,' he hissed, clutching his abdomen. 'You're supposed to fight with your mind, not your fists!'

Potter was leaning back against the wall, eyes closed and panting. One hand was braced on the bedside table, holding him up. His black hair was slick against his forehead, hiding his scar.

Draco winced and limped over to the bed, sitting down gingerly on the edge of the mattress as to not further bruise his innards. He'd thought, originally, he'd enjoy this, getting to root around inside Potter's head for a couple of hours a week. Potter of course had insisted on using a Pensieve, but a Pensieve could only hold so many memories and apparently Potter had a lot of them he didn't want Draco to see.

As it turned out, it was  _not_  enjoyable to dig around in Potter's mind. It was terrifying. Mostly Draco saw flashes from his childhood, those years he lived with the Muggles, but occasionally he saw... other things. More recent memories, full of red eyes, hissing,  _screaming_... if these were the memories Potter had decided not to keep from him, Draco had no desire whatsoever taking a peek in the Pensieve to see what Potter considered worth hiding.

Potter eventually opened his eyes and sat down on by the head of the bed, a foot of open space separating them, and flopped backwards. They were using Draco's Head Boy room because anyone who discovered the two of them in an unused classroom with wands drawn would be likely to alert a teacher, and neither of them wanted to be disturbed.

Draco flopped backwards beside him, studying the dark canopy of his bed for a moment. 'I didn't realise you two had broken up,' he said abruptly.

'It wasn't really any of your business,' Potter reminded him shortly, without looking at him.

 _Fair enough_ , Draco thought. Then he glanced sideways, and realised rather suddenly that he was alone in his room with Harry Potter, and they were lying on his  _bed_.

Potter was still breathing heavily, mouth parted; his skin was slick with sweat, eyes still tightly closed behind his glasses, long lashes dark and damp against his cheeks. Draco briefly entertained the thought of what Potter would do if their roles were reversed, and if Potter could see into his thoughts, dig through his emotions, see what he was thinking about more than he would ever, ever admit, even to himself.

It wasn't his fault, he reasoned. Not really. He was a seventeen-year-old boy, which meant despite any evidence to the contrary, he was almost continuously turned-on. Usually he could roll around with Pansy for a while and be somewhat sated, but even Pansy was beginning to notice his lack of interest, the sudden need for him to study when she came up to his room, the invention of Head Boy duties when she cornered him in an empty corridor.

He had debated breaking it off with her just to make things simpler, and it would be fairer to her, surely... but it was also bound to lead to questions, questions he didn't think he could come up with answers for, lies he didn't think he could manage with a straight face.

Draco suddenly noticed that Potter had turned his head to the side and was looking at him. 'What?'

Potter shrugged and looked away again. 'Nothing. Just surprised you shut up about it.'

'Like you said, it wasn't any of my business.'

'That's never stopped you before.'

Draco sat up a little, leaning his weight on his elbows to look down at him. 'Do you  _want_  to talk about it?'

Potter made a face and pushed his glasses up to his forehead, rubbing his eyes with his palms. 'Not particularly.'

Draco rolled his eyes while Potter wasn't looking.  _Thank Merlin, because I really don't want to hear it_. There was something, though, he  _was_  curious about. 'So,' he began casually, 'you and Nott.'

Potter paused, then removed his hands. Replacing his glasses, he gave Draco a look. 'Also none of your business.'

'Some of my business,' Draco reminded him.

Potter rolled his eyes and sat up, shoulders hunched. 'I figured he would have told you.'

Theodore kept mostly to himself, never one to volunteer personal information over the six years Draco had known him. He'd mostly been labelled a loner, absent whenever Draco had rallied his fellow Slytherins to conspire trouble (usually against Potter) and making excuses whenever they snuck out of the castle on weekends.

'That the two of you are right shirt lifters? People don't usually advertise that sort of thing.'

'I don't give a damn what you think.'

'Apparently, neither did Nott.' Draco shrugged. 'Maybe it's not any of my business. Anyway, are we done? Or did you want to try again?'

'I just don't understand what I'm doing  _wrong_.' Potter pushed himself off the bed and began to pace. 'I mean, it's better than it was with Snape, but you can still get in. It's like, no matter what I do, you fucking wiggle inside my head and I can't – I've tried  _everything_ , potions, wards,  _this_  – I'm fucking exhausted.'

'Well, that probably doesn't help,' Draco pointed out. 'I mean, Occlumency is simple enough to master for most people – it's Legilimency that's difficult – but honestly, you're not exactly the best at hiding what you're thinking.'

Potter paused in his pacing, looking at Draco over his shoulder, who had to admit maybe he wasn't entirely correct about that. 'You think so?'

'See, now  _that_ ,' Draco pointed out, sitting up. ' _That_  is what you need to do. You've got to stop trying to hide  _all_  of your emotions – Occlumency doesn't work like that. You don't block  _everything_. You just give enough of something to cover up what it is you're trying to hide.'

'How the hell is that supposed to help when Voldemort – ' Draco flinched at the name ' – isn't trying to find anything, he's just... rooting around in my head for fun?'

'Baby steps, Potter. You can't fly before you're able to straddle a broom.'

'Yeah, right, in the meantime I'll just learn to live without sleep, shall I?'

'You could just kip in here,' Draco blurted, then clamped his mouth shut. Where the hell did  _that_  come from?

Potter had stopped pacing again to stare at him. 'You want me to sleep in here? With you?'

Draco was a little miffed at the disgust in his voice. He shrugged. 'By all means, keep your Housemates awake all night screaming. I don't give a damn.'

'No, I mean,' Potter was giving him an odd look. He covered it up with a smirk. 'Not worried that I'll try to molest you in the middle of the night? Being a right shirt lifter, and all.'

'Please, as if you'd be sleeping in  _my_  bed,' Draco scoffed. 'I'll have the house-elves bring up a cot.'

'What about Parkinson?'

'I'll tell her one of my other girlfriends is coming over.' Potter raised his eyebrows at that and Draco rolled his eyes. 'Don't worry about Pansy. Just, we'll give it another go after you've slept and see if it helps, all right? I don't plan to spend my entire fucking weekend getting punched every time you fail at keeping me out.'

Potter winced a little. 'Sorry. About that, I mean, I just – it's not exactly comfortable.'

'Neither is getting punched,' Draco said, letting his head fall back into the duvet. 'You've got a right hook like a fucking Bludger.'

: : :

Getting rid of Pansy was easy enough. Turns out, since it was Friday, she had a girls' night out with a couple of tolerable Ravenclaws planned for the evening. Why a girls' night out included Blaise Zabini, Terry Boot and Zacharias Smith, Draco did not want to know, but was a little miffed he'd be spending a night with no classes in the morning stuck in his room with Harry bloody Potter.

Potter was quiet, though, head buried inside an enormous tome while lying in his cot. They'd positioned it close enough to the bed that Draco's own talent at Occlumency would envelope him, but the cot itself was closer to the floor and all Draco could see was the the mop of black hair and Potter's legs bent back over his thighs, crossed at the ankles.

It was already eleven o'clock. Potter had dragged himself (discreetly using his Invisibility Cloak) through the door of Draco's Head Boy room sometime after nine. Draco had spent a fascinated ten minutes playing with the cloak while Potter rolled his eyes and encased himself into the borrowed covers like an enormous caterpillar. Now, Draco was trying to focus on his Defense essay, but kept finding his mind wander, eyes always finding the top of Potter's head as he tried to describe the evolution of Dark magic over the ages.

The book Potter was studiously absorbed in was so old the title had been rubbed out over time. Potter stiffled a yawn with the back of his hand, carefully turning a page with an idly wave of his finger. Draco wondered how someone who could cast thoughtless, wandless, non-verbal magic had such a hard time with the simple concept of Occlumency.

'Merlin, I'm  _bored_ ,' Draco said. 'We should go out.'

Potter dog-earred a page (somewhere, surely, a Ravenclaw just got a headache) of the ancient tome and flicked his eyes upward to find Draco peering off the edge of the bed. 'Why?'

'Because I'm  _bored_ ,' Draco repeated. 'I thought I made that bit clear.'

'It's too dangerous,' Potter said reasonably.

'Too dangerous? I'm sorry, I thought I was talking to the Chosen One, not a Hufflepuff. Speaking of, even  _Smith_ 's gone out.'

'Yeah, 'cos I totally want to spend more quality time with him.'

'It's gotta beat hanging out with – whatever the hell it is you're reading. Come on, Potter. We could find out where Pansy's gone. They're probably drinking without us.'

'We could just drink here.'

'Been there, done that. You're a boring drunk,' Draco said.

'I dunno,' Potter said, and just the edge of his smirk was visible. 'You seemed to enjoy yourself.'

'You took advantage of me,' Draco went on, rolling onto his back in case he was blushing. 'Anyway, it's not like there's anything  _else_  to do, what with Quidditch cancelled.'

Potter groaned in agreement from somewhere below the mattress. 'It's so stupid! Why would they cancel Quidditch? I mean, it's the one bloody thing that I was looking forward to.'

'Might have something to do with the Slytherin team being down to two players,' Draco pointed out, fairly.

'They combined the Houses,' Potter shot back. 'Why not combine the teams? I mean, half the players on each team already left – we could just, y'know, double-up.'

'Because what about the positions? Smith's a Seeker, so am I. You're set with Chang gone, but I'm not fighting a Hufflepuff for a spot on our team I spent four years earning.'

'Maybe he'll Chase? You're a better Seeker than he is, anyway.' The bedsprings squeaked as Draco rolled back over to look down at Potter, who raised his eyebrows. 'What? You are,' he said, shrugging. 'I didn't say you were better than  _me_.'

'Clearly, modesty is not a Gryffindor trait.'

'We could even – like, look, we could rotate, y'know?' Potter went on, ignoring the jibe. 'If you both want to Seek, we'll, I dunno, have four games instead of six? People can trade off, or swap in. Different captains, different strats, still playing for all four Houses.'

'That wouldn't work, though, we can't play each other, we wouldn't have enough players. But what if we, like, elimination rounds? Start with the two teams that are split into four depending on the Captains, and based on that – '

'Everybody plays the winner!' Potter was sitting up now, on his knees, looking like an excited First Year. 'That's  _brilliant_. Do you have spare parchment? Here, budge up.'

They spent the rest of the night on their stomachs in Draco's four-poster, ink and parchment flying everywhere. Potter wasn't much for Smith captaining Hufflepuff but Draco pointed out he  _was_  the player with the most experience in his house, and when Potter started muttering Draco bit out a 'Scared to lose to Smith, Potter?' and that had been the end of that.

By one o'clock, when Pansy returned from her trip and tip-toed into the room, she was treated to seeing Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter side-by-side, sprawled face-first into an alarming array of scribbled-on parchment. She dropped her cloak, the heavy flop of fabric echoing through the bedroom. Neither boy so much as stirred.

Pansy closed the door softly behind her. Blaise, on his own way to the boys' dormitories, saw her face and raised an eyebrow. 'Malfoy chuck you out again?'

Pansy blinked, then mustered what semblance of dignity she could. 'You are not going to  _believe_ this.'

: : :

McGonagall peered at them both over the edge of the frayed parchment. Draco squirmed under her gaze. Say what you will about flaky Gryffindors, but that woman had a way of making his insides churn. It was a glare worthy of a Slytherin.

He was aware their current state probably contributed to the look she was giving them. They both had fallen asleep with their faces on inked parchment that hadn't had time to dry, and even Draco's hair was giving Potter's a run for it's Galleons. Still, Potter was right – if this was going to work they had to get it approved quickly, even possibly hold tryouts that very weekend.

'You're telling me, Mr Potter, that the two of _you_ conspired on this?'

'Er,' said Potter. 

' _Together?_ '

'Yeah, um. It was sort of – look, we just, we're bored out of our minds. We thought it'd be good for everyone to have something to – look forward to.'

'And here I thought you were given sufficient assignments to keep you occupied your final year of N.E.W.T.s,' McGonagall said, adjusting her glasses and giving the parchment before her another cursory glance. 'Perhaps I should have a word with my fellows about all this free time you seem to have.'

'That's not,' Potter began, then looked at Draco, who shrugged. He wasn't going to talk to the woman. She scared the hell out of him. Rolling his eyes, Potter tried again: 'Look, it'd also be good for, you know, all that stuff about the Houses – '

'You mean to say that you think competition will inspire greater House unity.'

'I hope?' Potter looked lost; Draco realised that Gryffindors seemed to be at as much of a loss around their Head of House as the rest of the school. ' _Please_ , Professor. We need to do  _something_. Other than coursework,' he hastily threw in, wincing.

McGonagall laid the parchment down on her desk and steepelled her fingertups, resting her chin there. She observed them in silence for a moment, eyes flickering between the two ink-smudged teenagers, giving nothing away. Eventually, she nodded. 'I think you're quite right. I will have a word with the Headmaster; though, I dare say he will not object to the idea.  _However_ ,' she continued, when both boys broke out in identical grins, 'any shenanigans such as those witnessed in your Fifth Year will not be tolerated, and any sabotaging will result in an end to any sports for the entirety of the year. Also, Mr Malfoy, it will be up to you to juggle these responsibilities along with that of your own and your duties as Head Boy. Do I make myself plain?'

Both of them nodded mutely. Out of the corner of his eye, Draco saw Potter glance at him, stupid smile plastered on his face.  _Told you we should go to McGonagall_ , it seemed to say, because at first Draco had wanted to go straight to Dumbledore. Apparently, the woman was more of a fan of the game than Draco gave her credit for.

Draco returned his gaze and smirked. Potter was grinning like he'd already won; we'll, we'd see about  _that_.

: : :

The official announcement that Quidditch was back on the menu of extracurricular activities later that day caused a bit of a sensation. Some students muttered about unfairness until they'd read the fine print, then brightened up considerably. Zacharias Smith came hurtling into the common room and immediately jumped Draco, thumping him hard on the back.

'Ow,' Draco muttered. 'D'you mind?'

'It was you, I know it was you,' Smith said, grinning. 'It's  _brilliant_. Why didn't you tell me? I would've helped you work it out.'

'I didn't know if they'd even consider it,' Draco said shrugging. 'Didn't want to get anyone excited.'

Smith flopped back on the couch across from him, a look of pure glee on his face. 'I'll be captaining for Hufflepuff, of course,' he said, then looked at Draco. 'Right?'

'That depends,' Draco said. 'How much is it worth to you?'

'Prat. Of course I am. Who  _else_  could? Honestly.' Smith was drumming his fingers on the couch, brow knit in thought. 'But,' he said, more seriously this time, 'which one of us is going to be Seeker?'

Draco shrugged, then gave him a smirk. 'Who said I wanted to be Seeker?'

: : :


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So like, there's maybe finally some H/D action going on here - ikr? Again, please note this is the one fic I don't have a beta or spagger for, so feel free to point out any typos/errors I may have missed, so I can correct them :)

**Chapter Twenty-Six**  
  
 _'It's not denial. I'm just selective about the reality I accept.'_  
\- Bill Watterson

: : :

Draco Malfoy was in serious trouble.

His inner turmoil wasn't outwardly apparent over the weekend; the wild scramble of anyone even remotely interested in Quidditch was distracting, and even in the late hours of the night, Draco was often too exhausted to give it much thought. The fact that Potter spent Saturday in his room on a cot after a couple of hours of Occluemcy lessons (fully rested, Potter was actually making a little progress, but not quick enough for Draco's comfort) wasn't exactly helping his predicament.

It wasn't until Sunday afternoon, when the pitch had been booked solid by each captain, that Draco started to really appreciate the problem.

Booked solid or not, no one really paid any attention to which team was up for tryouts at any specific time. Mostly they took turns, the rest of the hopeful players lounging in the last remnants of the autumn sun, watching their competition try out.

Oddly enough, Potter didn't want to captain as Draco thought he would. He passed the torch to Weasley, which Draco was less than happy about, mostly because it was a smart move. Weasley might be an idiot about a lot of things, but he took Quidditch more seriously than any of his classes. He was shaping up to be another Oliver Wood, from the way he drove his tryouts. More than half of those who didn't make the cut left the pitch in tears, or close to it.

Potter insisted on trying out for Seeker, which everyone – even Draco – knew was a moot point, but in an effort of fairness, Weasley rolled his eyes and waved his permission. Ginny actually did pretty well, but even Draco knew she was more Chaser material – she'd be an even more impressive Beater, if she had the physique to match her temper. Ravenclaw, who would be cross-teaming with Gryffindor, didn't have anyone who even came close. Smith was less than pleased that both versions of his opposing teams would have to match up against Potter's skill at Seeking.

'Perks wasn't half bad,' Zacharias huffed, collapsing in the grass beside Draco. 'I don't see why Potter gets to hog the pitch.'

'Perks wasn't half good, either,' Draco pointed out fairly. 'Potter's not even on his Firebolt.'

Zacharias glanced over at the mahogany wood balanced lovingly in Draco's lap. 'Haven't given it back yet?'

'It may have slipped my mind,' Draco said, smirking like the devil.

'See you forget to give it back before the first game, too, why don't you.'

If only, Draco thought. But he was pretty sure Potter would bring it up sooner rather than later. 'How're we doing?'

'Eh, I'm less than pleased with Zeller for Keeper, she's too small, she'll get eaten alive; Hopkins will be a decent Beater, though, he broke the first bat we gave him.' Zacharias shot a sidelong look at Draco. 'Are you sure you don't want to Seek?'

'Why bother?' Draco said, watching Potter spin artfully through the air above him. 'We're not going to beat them to the Snitch. We need to win on points.'

'I hated Chasing,' Smith said, shrugging. 'I was so glad when Summerby didn't come back. Still, I didn't think I'd be shadowing _him_ through every game,' he muttered darkly, eyes also following Potter dash past overhead.

'It'll be easier to captain as Seeker if you worry less about the Snitch and more about the goals,' Draco pointed out. 'He's going to get it, no matter what you do. Even if he's on a Cleansweep.' Zacharias scowled and Draco continued: 'Concentrate instead on blocking an early catch, and drowning them in points.'

Zacharias laughed, shaking his head. 'You're all dirty cheats.'

'It's not _cheating_ ,' Draco insisted, because it _wasn't_. 'It's called strategy. We've got a pair of Beaters that could down a Norwegian Ridgeback. Let's put them to good use.'

'And what do you propose we do about scoring? Even if we can hold Potter off, we still have to get past their Keeper.'

Draco smirked. 'Leave Weasley to me.'

: : :

Chaser tryouts went last because they took the longest, what with having to not only find players with talent on a broom but also chemistry flying together. With Potter's Firebolt between his legs, Draco easily outstripped every other hopeful on the pitch, scoring seven goals in as little as ten minutes. Most of the other students, spots earned or not, filtered their way back up towards the castle in hope for an early dinner long before the teams had finalised their rosters. The locker rooms were deserted aside from the last Chasers to make the cut, and a few other teammates that had lingered to watch.

'Chaser, huh,' Potter muttered, brushing past Draco's shoulder, towelling his hair dry. 'Tired of getting beat to the Snitch?'

'Tired of looking at your arse all game long, more like,' Draco countered. 'Worried, Potter?'

'Hardly.' Potter's eyes found the broom in Draco's hand. 'I also want my broom back.'

'Why? You got the position just fine on your borrowed Cleansweep.'

'Sirius gave it to me, that's why.' Potter tilted his head, giving Draco a good look; Draco tried not to squirm. He was becoming readily more aware of his body's traitorous reactions whenever Potter fixed him with a scrutinising gaze. It did not help that Potter was only clad in a towel, water still beading along his naked chest and trickling down the dark trail of hair that disappeared beneath the towel. 'But if you're _that_ worried about losing...' he continued, shrugging. 'I suppose you can borrow it. I could do with a challenge.'

He left Draco standing by the showers, gaping at his back.

: : :

Potter didn't show up at Draco's room that night, which was just as well, because by the time Draco got back (dinner was just about over, and anyway, he wasn't hungry for food) Pansy was already waiting for him, hands on her hips.

'Don't even think about changing the subject,' she warned.

Draco didn't give her a chance to get going. Sliding his hands around her waist, he cut off any further argument with a demanding kiss.

That seemed to do the trick; Pansy gave up and leaned in, mouth open and willing. When his hands drifted down to her hips her arms curled around his neck. Draco shifted forward and then her legs were over his hips, his hands under her thighs. She didn't resist when he carried her over to the bed, hands tangling in his hair, the soft curves of her body arching as he climbed over her. He shoved her hips down with his own, making his intentions perfectly clear. Pansy made a little noise into his mouth.

She didn't speak until he came up for air, just long enough to shed his Quidditch gear off. 'What did I say about changing the subject,' she said, breathless, but stilled him with a hand to his chest as he leaned back in. 'Wait.'

Draco paused, stomach contracting in panic. 'Do you not want to?'

'No, I – ' she inhaled deeply, closing her eyes briefly before looking at him again. She bit her bottom lip, fingers tracing the faint line of the scar along his chest. 'Where's your wand?'

Draco wasn't exactly proficient with non-verbal spells, much less wandless magic, but apparently his hormones had some positive effect on his abilities. He'd barely thought _wand!_ and the wood slapped itself into his palm. He let Pansy take it from him, and noted with some pleasure the shy blush blooming over her cheeks as she whispered ' _Cingo conceptus_.' She let out a heavy breath and went to toss the wand away, then paused. She narrowed her eyes. 'You haven't done this with anyone else, have you?'

'Er,' Draco said, feeling himself flush.

'I'll take that as a no,' Pansy said, smirking and chucking the wand aside. She pulled him back down into a kiss, legs twining over his lower back.

Draco kissed her back, hands on her thighs and crawling higher, pressing the hem of her skirt up farther before pulling back, hands bracing himself up on either side of her chest. 'Have _you?'_

Pansy rolled her eyes at him, and pulled her shirt over her head.

They didn't talk a lot after that.

: : :

'What the hell is wrong with you?' Blaise asked when Draco slipped into the seat beside him for Transfiguration the next morning.

Draco smirked. What was “wrong” with him might've had something to do with the naked body curled against his own when he woke up that morning, or the way Pansy hadn't been exactly shy with her hands after he'd kissed her awake.

Draco's smirk grew. 'Absolutely nothing.'

Blaise wasn't the only person to notice Draco Malfoy grinning like an idiot. First Years who were used to being shoved aside with a sneer gaped in his wake when he only apologised for brushing past, Flitwick told him he should lay off the Pepper-Up potion, and when Weasley remarked rather loudly that Draco must have finally cracked, Draco didn't even take points.

'If I'd known a shag was all it took to calm you down, I would have given it up years ago,' Pansy murmured in his ear at lunch. Draco, never one for public displays of affection, snogged her silly right in front of their dubious housemates. He didn't stop until Pansy pinched him. 'Boys,' she said, shaking her head.

He didn't see Potter until Potions. They were milling around outside of the classroom, waiting for Snape to make his appearance, when the Gryffindor trio arrived. Weasley gave Draco a suspicious look as he sauntered over, and squawked in protest when Draco took Potter by the collar and dragged him aside.

'It's fine, Ron,' Potter said, shrugging Draco off but following him a little further away. 'What?'

'How'd you sleep last night?'

Potter raised his eyebrows. 'Beg pardon?' Draco just fixed him with a look before Potter caught up, apprehension dawning in his eyes. 'Oh. Um.' He shrugged. 'All right, I guess. I figured you were sick of me hogging your room.'

'You have no idea,' Draco said, with feeling. 'Still, you need a lot more work.'

'Yeah, and I still need to teach you the Patronus Charm,' Potter pointed out. 'When's your next free period?'

And that was how Draco found himself in the Room of Requirement the following afternoon, on his arse and covered in cold sweat.

'Here, eat this,' Potter said, tossing him a bar of chocolate. Draco just stared at him. 'Trust me, it helps a lot.'

Climbing gingerly to his feet, Draco took a bite; the effect was almost immediate as he swallowed, warmth flowing through his chest. He took another bite. 'You said Lupin taught you how to do this?'

'Yeah, but it was easier, we just used a Boggart,' Potter admitted. At Draco's enquiring look, he elaborated: 'My Boggart always takes the form of a Dementor, so we just practiced that way.'

That certainly explained why Lupin hadn't let Potter participate in their Boggart exercises in Third Year, Draco noted. 'Yeah, well, maybe my attempts would be a little more successful with an actual Dementor than just the memory of one.'

For lack of a Dementor, they were using the Pensieve and one of Potter's darker memories. Potter had let him just watch it through the first time, and Draco had been surprised to find himself standing in Little Whinging, watching Potter and his Muggle cousin get attacked by two of the creatures that had gone rogue. Draco wondered why he didn't just use the memory from the pub a few weeks ago, but then again, it saved Draco having to see Theodore pinning Potter to the wall every go.

'I doubt it,' Potter said. 'Do you want to go again?'

Draco wasn't much better at this than Potter was at Occlumency. Hours later, all he managed to produce was a weak silver mist; the Dementors in the memory may not have been real, but the cold, sick feeling and the terrible memories they triggered were extremely real as far as Draco could tell. He kept at it anyway, determined not to be outdone by the powerful, ghostly stag that shot by at the end of every turn of the memory.

'I think that's enough,' Potter said after a while. 'We're going to miss dinner.'

Draco didn't argue. What he really wanted was a long, hot bath, but they'd skipped lunch to do this, so he followed Potter down to the Great Hall. He didn't realise they were walking shoulder-to-shoulder until they'd passed through the doors and all chatter immediately ceased; four tables full of students gaped at the pair of them. Before Draco could escape, Potter caught him by the elbow and said, _far_ too loudly, 'You free tomorrow night?'

Well aware that people were staring – and those within earshot raising their eyebrows or whispering to each other – Draco just nodded and pulled away, hurrying over to the Slytherin table. It took him a minute to realise exactly what Potter had said, and how it would appear to anyone unaware of their arrangement. Which was, well, _everyone_.

'You two seem awfully chummy,' Blaise remarked when Draco sat down.

Draco scowled at him, and said nothing. Pansy joined them shortly thereafter and, sensing his mood, dragged Draco back to his room without ceremony and quickly made him forget all about it.

: : :

The following night came far too soon.

Draco didn't know why he'd been so nervous about asking for sex before – because now, once they'd had it, he was getting it _all the time_. Pansy seemed just as enthusiastic about it as he was, which honestly he didn't expect, but wasn't about to complain.

All right, he may have been a bit preoccupied last year, but the occasional shag certainly would have helped his nerves a bit.

He was late, and that was also because of sex. When he'd muttered an excuse about having to drop by Snape's office about something or other, Pansy had cornered him in his room and persuaded him that, maybe, it could wait until tomorrow. Draco had, of course, caved – but once he'd recovered, left her snoring softly into his mattress and scuttled out the door.

Potter raised an eyebrow when Draco slipped into the Room. 'You look awfully pleased about something.'

Damn. He was really going to have to do something about the shit-eating grin sex left him with. Draco shrugged. 'Practise went well.'

'Well, I was going to suggest trying Occlumecy, but since you're in a good mood, it'd probably be better to start with your Patronus Charm.'

Draco scowled. 'And in doing so, thoroughly ruin it in the process. You must love seeing me miserable.'

'Trust me, Malfoy, if I wanted to see you miserable, I could manage it with hardly any effort.' Draco narrowed his eyes, but Potter continued with: 'I know it sucks, but it's a lot worse when it's the real thing. You need to learn this.'

Several long hours later, Draco was disgruntled and exhausted and no longer in a happy post-coital haze.

Potter reached out a hand; Draco took it without thought, and let himself be pulled to his feet. 'This is fucking _useless_.'

'You're not doing that badly,' Potter told him, dropping his hand. 'You're actually doing a lot better than I did on my second try. It looked like a torpedo, or something.'

Draco had no idea what a torpedo was, and the only shape he had been able to discern from the mist had been long and smooth, like a snake, but much larger. 'Whatever. Are we done?'

Potter shrugged. 'If you are.'

He looked pretty tired himself, and prompted Draco to ask: 'Not sleeping again?'

Potter looked at him, and shrugged again. 'Not much.'

'Next time, let's stick with the Occlumency, then, shall we?'

'Didn't know you cared.'

'I don't.' Because he didn't. Draco gathered his cloak, and stopped at the door to look over his shoulder; Potter was packing away the pensieve and being slow about it – giving Draco time to leave. Draco sighed and rolled his eyes. 'You coming?'

Potter bit his lip. 'You sure you don't mind?'

'If you're too sleep-deprived to kill the Dark Lord, I'm sure my life will be a lot more inconvenient than letting you kip in my room,' Draco pointed out.

That earned him a grin – one of those sneaky, sideways smiles that Potter usually adopted when he was drunk. 'Thanks,' he said, tossing his Invisibility Cloak over them both and following Draco out into the hall.

'You're actually sleeping on the cot this time,' Draco felt the need to point out.

'So I won't have to worry about being kicked in the middle of the night? Thank God.'

'Good evening, boys,' said a soft voice.

Both of them froze, not having realised they weren't the only ones in the hall. Turning around, Draco was horrified to see not only the Headmaster, but Snape standing about ten feet behind them. The Potions master had narrowed his eyes suspiciously, but Dumbledore was looking right at them, as if they weren't wearing the cloak.

Potter sighed and pulled the cloak off. 'Evening, Professor... _s_ ,' he tacked on, with a dark look at Snape.

Snape, if possible, narrowed his eyes further, but Dumbledore cut off any remark he was about to make by saying: 'I'm pleased to see you two are getting along. If only you were... more open about your amiability, it might set quite the example for the rest of the school.' Both boys looked at each other, grimaced, then at the floor. 'In the meantime, Draco, would you mind if I borrowed Harry for a moment? We have some things to discuss.'

'Sure, Professor,' Potter said, not even waiting for Draco to reply. He looked at Draco and, quietly enough that Snape _hopefully_ didn't overhear, 'Is it still okay if I... ?'

Draco shrugged. 'Whatever.'

This way, at least, Draco would have time to fend Pansy off if she was still asleep in his room.

What hope Draco had of Snape following the pair to wherever they were going vanished when Snape strode towards him, falling into step beside Draco. 'Do I even want to know?' he asked, once Dumbledore and Potter were well out of earshot.

Draco cringed. He could feel Snape probing – albeit gently – at his mind. Draco quickly filtered anything private (and involving Potter sharing his bedroom) away and let him snoop, shivering as Snape quickly absorbed the information he was looking for.

'Interesting,' Snape said eventually. 'Though I must say, I could have warned you Potter was completely hopeless at the art of Occlumency.'

Draco shrugged again. 'You're the one who said I needed the practise in Defense.'

'Indeed. Your progress with the Patronus charm is not as bad as you think, Draco. Potter was – uncommonly – correct in that regard. Do not be so hard on yourself; it is a difficult charm to master.'

Understatement of the year, Draco thought miserably. 'Sir,' he said, 'can you... ?'

Snape pulled out his wand and, after sweeping the empty hall with his eyes to make sure they were alone, silently cast the charm. A small doe sprung daintily from the tip of his wand, casting the stone walls in white light. 'If you would like some advice,' Snape said, the doe prancing around them as they continued their way towards Ravenclaw's old common room, waggling its over-large ears, 'try concentrating less on specifically _pleasant_ memories. You, like Potter, do not exactly possess a wealth of them.' Draco raised an eyebrow at Snape acknowledging Potter had anything short of a perfect life. 'Focus instead more on feeling – devotion can prove just as powerful as joy; often exceed it.'

He left Draco pondering those words at the entrance to the common room. Potter had said something similar their first lesson, though much less eloquently – Snape managed to make sense of it where Potter had failed. Feeling marginally better, Draco cut through the empty tower and up to his bedroom. Pansy was, thankfully, nowhere to be seen. Draco summoned a house-elf to request the cot, and set to changing into his nightclothes while it was set up.

By the time sleep was pulling at his eyelids, Potter still hadn't appeared. Draco supposed that he might have just gone back to his own dormitory after all when the door opened quietly, and an invisible figure stepped through. When Potter pulled off the cloak, Draco raised his eyebrows. 'You look like shit.'

Potter started. 'Sorry,' he said automatically. 'Did I wake you up?'

'Not really,' Draco said, shrugging. 'So, what was so important?'

'Nothing.' Draco narrowed his eyes. 'Sorry. I can't – trust me, you don't want to know.'

'Try me.'

Potter just shook his head. 'I can't.'

'Right, I forgot,' Draco said, grinning without mirth. 'Can't tell the ex-Death Eater, he might rebound any day now – even if I am sleeping in the same room as him.'

'That's not – '

'Save it, Potter,' Draco snapped, rolling over so his back was to Potter and closing his eyes. 'I don't care, anyway.'

'Do you want me to leave?'

'Do whatever the fuck you want.'

Draco's eyes flew open when he felt the mattress sink as Potter sat on the edge of the bed. 'What I _want_ has nothing to do with it, all right? You think I don't – appreciate this, what you're doing? Because I do, okay? Is that what you want to hear?'

'What I want to hear is silence, so I can get some fucking sleep.'

'God, you can be _such_ a tool,' Potter muttered.

'What part of “I don't care” did you not understand?' Draco snapped sourly. 'Why don't you go crawl into bed with Weasley and let _him_ keep the Dark Lord out of your head? Merlin knows you can trust _him_ with your little secrets.'

'It's not that I'm worried you'll – Dumbledore trusts you, and that's enough for me, okay? But there's some things you're safer not knowing.'

'Oh, so this is about my protection, then?' Draco says, rolling over to face him. 'Not the fact that you all still think I'm going to turn tail and run back to my pack of Death Eater pals? Spare me. You think I don't see the looks they give me? You and your stupid fucking friends can kiss my arse.'

'Cry me a fucking river,' Potter snapped, standing up off the bed. 'My friends have cut you a _lot_ of slack, Malfoy. More than you deserve.'

'Oh, is that so? And what exactly do I _deserve?'_

'Don't you think,' Potter said, rounding on him, 'that it's just a little strange that despite what you did, that there has been no backlash whatsoever?'

Draco blinked. He hadn't really thought about that, but now it did sound a little strange. More than a little, to be honest.

'My friends,' Potter continued, 'don't trust you. Hell, _I_ don't trust you. And you don't deserve their trust. Or mine. But even still – even though we don't, nobody has said a word.'

'I expect the Headmaster – '

'Didn't forbid them anything. Or me,' Potter added brutally. 'No, Malfoy. Nobody has said anything because I know—we know—what it's like to be persecuted. And we wouldn't wish that on anyone. Not even you. Because you can bet your sorry, Pureblood arse that if the school knew what you'd done, you wouldn't be able to walk down a corridor without getting a bloodied nose. Or worse. A lot worse. People's friends – _families_ – they've died because of those bastards. Died at the _wands_ of those bastards. And _you_ let them in.'

Draco couldn't honestly think of anything to say to that, so he clamped his mouth shut.

'My friends don't trust you,' Potter said again, 'but _you_ should trust _us_. And maybe start treating us with a little more _fucking respect_.'

'You act like I had some kind of choice!' Draco shouted, rolling up and off the edge of the bed. Potter, startled, blinked and stood up straight, but didn't back down when Draco advanced on him. 'You think I _asked_ for this? You think I wanted to do any of it? Fuck you!'

'You seemed happy enough about it last year on the train, bragging to your Housemates!'

'They had my _mother!'_ Draco screamed at him, shoving him backwards; Potter stumbled but held his ground, hands tightening into fists. Oh, God, they were going to have an all-out brawl in his Head Boy room; any second now the hexes would start flying, someone would hear, and Snape would be summoned and find them – or worse, Draco would end up slashed open and bloody again. 'My father was in Azkaban – because of _you_ might I add – it was just me and my mum and you of _all_ people know what they would have done to her if I'd refused! What they _did_ do to her!'

Potter shoved him back, teeth bared. 'Your father being in Azkaban was his own fault!'

'But was it _mine?'_ Draco snapped, shoving him again, harder this time; Potter's back slammed into the dresser and Draco held him there, finger pointed at his chest. 'Was it my _mother's?_ You act like none of this is your fault – tell me, after my father was incarcerated, did anyone in the Order stop to think what it would mean for _us?_ What _he_ would do, since my father had failed? Did any of you stop and think for a second, or did you just _not care?'_

Potter opened his mouth to retort, but nothing came out. After a moment, he shut his mouth.

'That's what I thought,' Draco sneered, stepping back. 'So do me a favour: stop with the selfless act. Nobody else seems to be able to see through your bullshit, but you're not fooling _me.'_

Draco turned around to stalk back to his bed, but Potter caught his arm. 'Malfoy – '

He tried to yank his arm away, but Potter tightened his hold, forcing him to turn back and face him. 'Do you _want_ a fight?'

'I want,' Potter said, hesitating, 'I want to apologise. You're right. We didn't – _I_ didn't think.'

'And what, you think if you apologise that – that that's it? That everything will be all right? Do you actually expect me to _accept_ it?'

'No, I – ' Potter hesitated again, gritting his teeth. 'If you won't – what _do_ you want from me, Malfoy?'

Draco thought about all the things he'd ever wanted from Potter. Friendship. Recognition. Alliance. Anything, really, anything except -- well, everything they had. Hatred. Violence. Despise. Contempt. _Revenge_. And now, he still wanted those more pleasant things, even after everything, even though Draco would never admit it. And, more recently, what Draco _really_ wanted –

'Look,' Potter continued, cutting into his thoughts, 'I know we haven't always – but whatever is – '

He didn't get a chance to say anything else, because Draco jolted forward and kissed him. 

: : :


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Draco discovers he's not ready for any of this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! As I've stated before, this fic is just a side project for my own amusement, and is only updated when time/muse allows... and go figure, it's become one of my more popular works. Still, after that nasty cliffhanger, I got my fair share of death threats, so here's the fun :D

**Chapter Twenty-seven**  
  
 _‘I pretty much try to stay in a constant state of confusion_  
 _just because of the expression it leaves on my face.’_  
– Johnny Depp

: : :

It wasn’t really anything like a kiss, mostly because Potter wasn’t expecting it (how could he?). To be fair, Draco hadn’t been exactly expecting to _do_ it, either.

Basically, he just punched Potter in the face. With his mouth.

‘Ow! _Fuck!_ ’ Potter said against his mouth when his head slammed into the wall behind them. But that opened his mouth and, well, since Draco basically had two options at that point – pull away and talk about what the fuck just happened, or keep going and hope Potter either played along or fled – Draco chose the lesser of two evils and tentatively swept his tongue inside.

Potter went rigid against him, but Draco only noticed it distantly. Mostly what Draco noticed was how hot the inside of Potter’s mouth was, the faint aftertaste of chocolate, and how every nerve-ending in his own body was suddenly on fire.

Especially that bit in his trousers.

Kissing Pansy was nothing like this. Granted, Pansy kissed _back_ , but Pansy also had breasts and soft curves and full lips, whereas Potter had a hard, flat chest, stubble that bit into Draco’s jaw, and sharp edges and – well, his lips weren’t full, exactly, but definitely pliable and not exactly unenjoyable. That wasn’t to say kissing Pansy was better – or worse – than this, but it was very, very different.

At least, it wasn’t any better until Potter started kissing him _back_.

Draco never stopped to think during kissing long enough to wonder if he was any good at it; aside from that one time with Bones, Pansy was the only person he ever really snogged well enough to count, and neither of them had any complaints he was aware of. But snogging girls, he was quickly learning, was another practice entirely to snogging boys; girls always let him take control of the kiss without any argument and just followed his lead. They didn’t fight him for control, and while Pansy wasn’t timid like Bones, she wasn’t forceful.

Or maybe it was just because he was kissing _Potter_ , of all people – it was rapidly becoming less of a snog and more of a fight involving their mouths.

Pansy never bit down hard on his lower lip. She never sucked on his tongue, either, which effectively shut down any cognitive thought until Potter nipped his lip again, before tilting his head to the side and shoving his own tongue into Draco’s mouth. Draco really started to freak out when the backs of his knees hit the edge of the bed and Potter shoved him down, never disconnecting their mouths, crawling over him and holding him down by his arms.

Merlin’s pants, what the hell had he gotten himself into?

From what little he’d been able to gather about the Potter-Theodore phenomenon, to Draco it had seemed Nott had been the aggressive one. Which was unsurprising knowing Nott, but also, well – Theodore was a _fucking werewolf_. Still, Potter had seemed uncharacteristically willing to go along with it, but then again, that was with Nott – not Draco.

Draco really needed to stop thinking so much – not because he had given up, but because he really wasn’t getting enough oxygen to stay conscious as it was.

Aside from the kiss, Draco had yet to actually touch Potter, but Potter was touching _him_ now, his hands sliding over Draco’s arms to his shoulders, leaving a trail of burning skin in their wake. Draco made a noise into his mouth he’s sure would have been embarrassing under any other circumstances but Potter seemed to take it as permission, and one of his hands dropped a little lower.

Draco jerked so hard Potter pulled back, mouth swollen and slick with – sweet Circe – Draco’s saliva. Draco regretted it immediately, because now Potter was _looking at him_ like he expected Draco to say – what, exactly?

Potter just looked at him for a moment, and Draco became uncomfortably aware of the weight of Potter’s legs straddling his own and the heat resting against his hip. Finally, Potter said, ‘Well? Do you want to do this, or not?’

Not exactly what Draco had been expecting, but he’d worked with worse. ‘Do _you?_ ’ he shot back in between heavy gulps of air, determined not to be undermined.

Potter smirked a little wryly. ‘It’s probably not the best idea I’ve ever had.’ Draco scowled at that, and Potter’s expression softened. ‘Well, come on, it’s not exactly – people are going to think we’ve gone mental.’

We _have_ gone mental, Draco thought a little dimly. It was really hard to think about anything, really, other than the throbbing heat of what he could only imagine was Potter’s dick poking his navel. ‘Are you actually planning on _telling_ anyone?’

‘I haven’t exactly had a chance to think about it much,’ Potter said, rolling his eyes. ‘Speaking of – ’

Draco reached up and twisted Potter’s tie in his fist and pulled him back down. Potter didn’t argue, just smiled against his mouth before opening up again and Draco finally stopped thinking about it entirely.

He could do with this being their dirty little secret. It’s not as if he didn’t have enough of those.

When Potter deepened the kiss and began to grind against him though, Draco started to consider that perhaps he hadn’t thought this through very well at all.

After all, what the hell did he know about – whatever the hell it was – they were doing? Just because Draco had had sex half a dozen times with his girlfriend didn’t exactly make him an expert on the subject. He had a basic grasp of the idea – insert somewhere warm, preferably moist, and – well. The rest seem to happen on automatic. He still didn’t have any idea of what Pansy got out of the deal (though she seemed to enjoy it, as far as he could tell), but the concept was pretty simple: he had a dick, she had a cunt. They fit together like a key into a lock; it didn’t take a genius to figure it out.

Potter didn’t have a cunt, though (well, that still remained to be seen, but Draco was _fairly_ sure about that); Potter had a _cock_ , that much was evident from the insistent heat gyrating into his hip. Potter also had hands, one of which was still holding Draco down by the shoulder, while the other trailed down his side and slipped between them.

Potter also had a mouth, a very talented mouth that was making it very difficult to concentrate on the logistics of what was happening here. The thought of what that mouth could do to lower regions made Draco shiver.

The shudder got misinterpreted by Potter, whose hand had gotten right to the point of thumbing Draco’s trousers open, and apparently took it as permission to slip inside. Draco involuntarily made a small noise of protest; Potter swallowed it.

Pansy had done this, too, but Pansy hadn’t ever done it before (so she claimed, anyway) and while it was nice, her hands were small and infuriatingly careful (though Draco knew better to complain). Potter’s hands were the exact opposite: Potter had large hands, and he curled one easily and shamelessly around Draco’s cock. Potter was also not timid like Pansy had been, squeezing too softly or stroking too slowly. He fisted Draco’s cock in a firm grasp and tugged _hard_ , and Draco bit down sharply on his lip.

Potter hissed and pulled back, breath coming in ragged puffs against Draco’s mouth. ‘Hell,’ he whispered, licking his lips, and since all Draco could think about at that point was that tongue on his cock, he didn’t say anything. Potter leaned his forehead against Draco’s, slowing his hand and squeezing harder; Draco’s hips rose into the touch automatically. ‘I’m beginning to feel a bit left out, here, Malfoy.’

‘What?’ Draco managed, sucking in a huge lungful of air while he had the chance. He lost most of it when Potter twisted his hand, and Draco’s entire body jerked without his permission. Bloody _hell_. ‘Merlin.’

Potter loosened his grip and Draco could have killed him, he was so close. He tried vainly to thrust into Potter’s lax hand, and Potter pulled away entirely. ‘Oh, no you don’t.’ Potter leaned in and kissed him again, teeth harshly nipping at Draco’s bottom lip before trailing lower along his jaw, until he got to Draco’s ear.

‘Come on, Malfoy,’ he purred. ‘You want this?’ An incoherent, frustrated sound crawled out of Draco’s throat, and Potter shoved his hips down, hard, cutting it off. He grabbed one of Draco’s hands (Draco had fisted them in the bedcovers, not knowing what else to do with them) and moved it between them, sliding Draco’s palm over the tent in his trousers. It was kind of terrifying and strange and insanely hot all at once, and Draco curled his hand without thinking. Potter shuddered against him, teeth nipping at Draco’s earlobe. ‘Come on,’ he said again. ‘I’m not gonna do you unless you do me.’

Oh, _hell_.

Draco moved his hand up, away from Potter’s cock; Potter narrowed his eyes, but closed them as Draco’s hand slid underneath his shirt, feeling the hot skin there. Potter was hard where Pansy had been soft, and hairy where she was smooth. It was strange, terrifying, and somehow it made Draco harder, his cock twitching, still half-inside his trousers.

Draco closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath as his fingers ghosted the waistband of Potter’s trousers. There wasn’t a lot of room to move inside, but the simple motion of opening trousers seemed awfully formidable at the moment. Apparently, he didn’t need to trouble himself – Potter wrestled his zip open for him, then grabbed Draco’s wrist and shoved his hand inside.

‘Fucking hell,’ Draco hissed, opening his eyes. The first thing he noticed was the heat – maybe because it wasn’t his own, but Potter’s cock felt burning hot in his grip. He couldn’t even _see_ it in the shadow of their joined hips, but it felt enormous in his shaking hand. ‘Potter – ’

‘Shh,’ Potter chastised, and kissed him again, quickly, lips only, before pulling back and resting his forehead against Draco’s, fringe tickling Draco’s eyelashes. ‘Just – come on, Malfoy, you know how to do this.’

Draco had no fucking idea how to do this. He almost said as much, before he realised what Potter meant, and – well, yeah, okay, he knew how to do _that_. Draco let out the breath he was holding and tightened his hold, and above him Potter groaned, his hand sliding back to cup Draco’s cock through his trousers.

It was easier after that, because Potter’s eyes fell closed again and Draco followed his lead and just let himself _feel_ – Merlin, Potter’s hands were lovely, rough and large and completely unashamed, quickly tugging Draco’s clothes out of the way and fisting him without any hesitation. It was still a little hard to concentrate on the fact that this went both ways, though (mostly because Potter’s thumb was doing something filthy and delightful to the head of his cock), and Draco struggled to keep his own hand’s rhythm going. The angle was awkward and it _wasn’t_ the same, because this wasn’t his own cock in his hand and Potter was making very distracting sounds to mingle with Draco’s own.

Potter released Draco’s cock and slid his hand lower; Draco groaned, hips rising unbidden into the touch as Potter cupped his balls and gave a gentle tug. Draco made a noise that he would deny later, because it sounded suspiciously like a _squeak_.

And then someone hammered heavily on the door, and both of them froze.

‘Draco Malfoy, don’t you even pretend to be asleep!’ Pansy shouted through the wooden barrier. ‘Open the bloody door!’

Potter’s eyes opened and flicked towards the door, then back to Draco.

‘It might be a bit late to mention the fact,’ Draco managed, voice hoarse and hand still wrapped tight around Potter’s cock, ‘that I technically have a girlfriend.’

‘Don’t think I won’t blow this door off its hinges!’ came the muffled snap from the other side of the door.

Inexplicably, Potter leaned down and kissed him, quickly, teeth nipping Draco’s bottom lip. ‘Don’t move,’ he said against Draco’s mouth before rolling off the bed, cock still out, and Draco couldn’t help but stare at it. He didn’t get long to look, however, before Potter returned with his invisibility cloak and climbed back over Draco.

‘If she breaks down the door, I don’t think this will help us much,’ Draco said.

As Potter settled over his hips, his cock brushed Draco’s and Draco groaned, arching his body without thought to rub them together. Potter ground into him, scraping his teeth along Draco’s jaw and trailing down to his neck. Draco tilted his head back and – fucking hell – _moaned_ when Potter bit down on his throat, sucking hard at the flesh.

Draco jerked when a spell hit the door, causing it to slam against the hinges. He pushed at Potter’s shoulders, but Potter just bit down harder. ‘Potter – get _off_ – ’

Potter didn’t seem willing to move, so Draco shoved him, but when Potter rolled sideways he dragged Draco with him, and then gravity had its say, slamming them both into the floor. Potter, damn the Fates, landed on top, winding Draco. It allowed him to briefly sit up and rearrange the cloak over them, before shoving Draco into the floor by his shoulders and kissing him again.

Another spell hit the door, and Draco could _hear_ the hinges creak in the stone wall.

‘God dammit, Potter,’ Draco hissed, even as Potter’s teeth caught his earlobe and Draco’s eyes rolled back into his head. ‘Would you – ’

‘Do you _ever_ know when to shut up?’ Potter sat up, cheeks flushed and lips swollen against Draco’s; Draco opened his mouth just to tell Potter what-for, but Potter clamped a hand down over his mouth and hissed: ‘Being invisible won’t help much if you’re making a ruckus.’

Draco was outraged; he should have shoved Potter off (he could, if he really tried), he should have shoved him off and hexed him or possibly punched him in the eye for the sheer _gall_ , but instead Draco just groaned and tightened his grip on Potter’s hips, which were still locked against his own. The situation should have been as hot as a cold shower, but for whatever reason, the possibility that Pansy might come in here, catch them at it (and surely hex them _both_ into next week), did nothing to dissuade his cock, desperately trying to find friction against Potter’s.

Draco heard the door burst open, saw Potter look up – and then heard the door slam closed again, and what sounded like Pansy’s surprised squeak of protest.

Pansy’s litany of curses and threats were muffled by the now-magically secured door, but Draco was pretty sure they all involved his reproductive organs. All of which were still being manhandled by Potter. ‘Potter,’ Draco said. It came out _fwatter_.

Potter removed the hand covering Draco’s mouth. He also removed his other hand, hurriedly, and sat up. The cloak slipped off his shoulders onto the floor.

‘Um,’ Draco said, because Potter hadn’t said anything and his trousers were still open and, now, in full view. ‘So – ’

Potter finally looked at him, and the only thing Draco could read from his mind was the feeling of being torn. Then, without warning, Potter blinked and Draco couldn’t read him at all. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I should – I need to go.’

‘What?’ Draco said. Pansy was gone, and while he was sure he’d be hearing about it in the morning she wouldn’t be back anytime soon. ‘Why?’

‘I can’t,’ Potter explained, explaining nothing. He pushed to his feet and sorted out his clothes. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said again, before throwing the cloak over his shoulders and vanishing.

Before Draco could even sit up, he heard the door open and close again. ‘Are you _fucking kidding me?_ ’ Draco snapped at the empty room.

: : :

Draco got very little proper sleep that night, and his only consolation was that, without his help, Potter hadn’t either.

To make matters worse, he overslept and then had to shower in a hurry, missing breakfast entirely... and in doing so had nearly forgotten about the mess Potter had made of his neck. He'd been late to Transfiguration because he had to duck into a loo on the way and remove the offending marks. Merlin, it looked like he'd been attacked by a particularly enthusiastic vampire.

It certainly didn’t help prepare him for the lecture on mutual respect he got over breakfast from Pansy, nor did it assist him at all during any of his morning classes. Potter hadn’t shown at their shared classes and didn’t come to lunch, but Draco was pretty sure he wouldn’t be insane enough to skip Potions, even to avoid him. With a heavy heart, Draco gathered his things and headed off towards the dungeons.

But Potter wasn’t at Potions, and Snape didn’t even mention it – didn’t even take points. Draco glared at the back of Granger’s head in case it might provide some insight (it didn’t) until class was over, and followed the flow of students towards the Great Hall for dinner.

He was lagging in the back, trying to avoid Pansy, who always bullied her way to the front. He’d have to face her once he got to the table, but the less time he had to spend with her, the less guilty he felt. In hindsight, it might have been better for him to have kept up, because he was one of the few students still in the Entrance Hall when the doors to the castle opened and Potter stepped inside.

He wasn’t alone. The Headmaster was at his side, and they were both carrying brooms and soaking wet from the rain outside. Harry was also covered in mud spatter, but Dumbledore seemed to have avoided whatever caused that. They were talking in low voices as they entered, and Draco didn’t even realise he’d stopped to stare until Potter pulled up short and blinked at him.

‘Good evening, Mr Malfoy,’ the Headmaster said brightly. Perhaps he thought it would distract Draco from the blackened hand he hastily tucked out of view. Draco remembered his manners long enough to mumble a reply, and Dumbledore seemed satisfied with that. He nodded at Harry, ‘I must retire to my office, Harry. And I trust you are in need of a good meal; good night.’

They both watched him go, but when Potter tried to turn into the Great Hall Draco grabbed him by the elbow and hauled him aside.

‘Ow,’ Potter said loudly and winced. ‘Is this a Slytherin thing no one knows about, or what?’

'Shut up.’

Potter did, and looked at him expectantly. Draco no longer had any idea of what he wanted to say.

‘I really am kind of hungry,’ Potter reminded him.

‘Shut up,’ Draco said again. ‘Where the hell were you?’

Potter tilted his head, looking a cross between amused and exasperated. ‘Do you have any idea of how many headaches you cause?’

‘Or are you running secret missions with the Headmaster, now?’

Potter smirked. ‘Something like that.’ The smirk faltered as Potter continued to look at him. ‘Shit, you’re still narked about the other night.’

 _You think?_ Draco almost shouted at him, but managed to hold it in.

‘Look, it’s – damn it,’ Potter said. ‘Do you really want to talk about this in the corridor?’

Draco stood back and let Potter push off the wall. ‘I’m open to suggestions.’ That didn’t involve his room, he thought to himself, or the Room of Requirement because – because no.

Potter looked at the doors to his left, then back at Draco. The smirk was back. ‘Well, in that case... can I buy you a drink?’

: : :


End file.
